#doing faceups this one is better than the one i tried to do last on her. weirdly parallel to the first faceup i did on cordy tbh bc that was

[volfoss]

It's really funny looking back at my old concepts for this doll/character and seeing oh I was going for x vibe and now that I'm redoing it (and with better techniques/tools/practice kind of) it's going so much better than it did before

[lemontartc]

Rum Update #3

Okay I did layers 2 and 3 of her faceup today and more... learning experiences, lol.

Layer 2 was kind of a disaster. First, I definitely did too much shading/contouring on layer 1. I also did too much MSC (it was my first time spraying it, I had no idea what I was doing), and my droplet/blotting incident made one side streaky and trying to blend it out only made the splotchiness from the rough texture worse. I really like how the eyeshadow I did came out, but trying to blend the splotchy side of the face made it obviously darker than the other and in the end I... gave up. I tried to erase it, which made the splotchiness worse to the point I went scorched earth and got acetone. That was very touch and go and honestly I still haven't decided if that was a good or bad call. I think neutral because it kind of wrapped back around to where it started, meaning it's no worse but still a time waste. Anyway I washed the whole side away twice trying to make it less splotchy and match the side I liked more. I decided to go ahead and seal in what I had eventually because I needed the MSC back to give the clean side tooth again before I could try to build it up.

That took me about an hour. I let that sit for half an hour before going in for layer 3, which took me about an hour and a half. That one went... better, although the left side of the face still has enough splotchy/streakiness that all the undoing kind of felt pointless, especially since it made her eyeshadow suffer on that side too and I really like how it looks on the "good" side.

I was getting nowhere with her yellow eyes on the orange vinyl until I remembered you can wet the watercolor pencils to get more color and that helped with payoff. Unfortunately, I don't have the reds and oranges I need to pull off my plan, and I'm honestly not sure how possible it is without paint, but I locked in my base colors and I plan to go back for one last layer fixing up the lips and brows (they're only loosely sketched in rn) and adding the highlights and details into the eyes as much as possible. She's also supposed to have a soft white stripe down the center of her face that I tried to do but really doesn't show up on camera so I'm trying to decide if I'm leaving that as is or going to try committing more to it.

Here she is right now. Behind her is my original plan for her faceup. Color is a little blown out from my lighting but she's coming out way better than I worried she might! I was afraid I'd be terrible at this and I think I'm just learning right now and it'll get way better with practice :) I'm planning to change the black stripe placement to cover up some of the stripey/splotchiness on her left cheek (you can't really see it head on, just from that side. Unfortunately my doll shelf is positioned so that's the side facing me in the room). I'll bust out paints for the stripes and probably - eventually - use them on the eyes too, I just don't have any right now. I was waiting to see how I liked this and if pencils were enough before spending more money but I'll definitely be doing more of these so it's worth it lol.

[plsimsuchasimp]

cheating.

part 2 here

Ft: Suna Rintarou x !gn reader, a little bit of atsumu miya x !gn reader

Genre/warnings: one (1) curse word, cheating, brief implied sex, angst, hurt/comfort, fighting

Wc: 1.8k

NOT PROOFREAD!

a/n: i’m so sorry for this angst but i had to do it for y’all... didn’t have it in me to write a happy ending, maybe later.

The rain was pouring down, clattering against the roof of the gym. You, sitting against the wall in a corner by the benches, watched Suna’s team play, smiling slightly at the way they seemed to seamlessly move together. Your boyfriend looked concentrated, green eyes flickering from one player to another. 

His phone buzzed beside you, and you picked it up, intending to set it to Do Not Disturb so you could do work, but the notification caught your eye. 

“Hey!” It read, “it was so good to meet you >;) you made me feel good <3″

Instantly, your heart drops into your stomach. Silently willing for the notification to disappear, your eyes cling to the screen as yet another popped up. “I miss you babe, we should do that again”

Your eyes begin to burn, trying to deny the obvious truth of what you saw in front of you. Suna Rintarou had cheated on you, and from the looks of it, with a stranger. You swallow, hard, as the lump in your throat grows and tears begin to form in your eyes. No wonder he’d been overly affectionate in the past week, he probably felt guilty.

What hurt most wasn’t that he didn’t tell you, pretended that everything was fine; no, it was the realization that you just weren’t enough for him. All the time you’d spent on him, everything you’d done, the words of confirmation and the countless amount of love and affection you’d given him, it all wasn’t good enough. 

You were bad enough for him to seek loving in a stranger’s arms.

Clicking the phone off, you put it down and stared into space for a moment, fighting the tears that threatened to spill onto your cheeks at any second. Practice was wrapping up, and you couldn’t face Suna right now. Luckily for you, he was on cleanup duty this week, so he had to stay late. 

Trying to shake the rigidity out of your limbs, you gathered your things and stuffed them into your bag, not taking the time to organize them so they all fit. Head down, you headed for the door, hoping that Suna wouldn’t look over. Opening the door, you were faced with another harsh realization: It was raining and Suna was supposed to drive you home. That wasn’t happening today, for sure. Glancing around, you spotted Atsumu pulling his umbrella out of his bag, and rushed over to him.

“Hey Atsumu,” you said, attempting to keep your voice steady, “Can I catch a ride with you?” He was going to ask why, when Suna had a perfectly good car, but then he caught a glimpse of the tear streaking silently down your face and decided it might be better to wait until later.

Unusually serious, he agreed and put a comforting hand on the small of your back as you two hurried out of the door under his umbrella. Opening his car door for you, he let you in and then went over to the driver’s side, sliding in and turning on the car so it would warm up. 

Stealing the occasional look at you, he noticed you were shaking and turned up the heat in the car although he was warm from volleyball practice. He started driving, sensing that you didn’t want to talk. Jaw clenched, he drove in silence for a couple minutes, then dared to speak.

“Hey, are you okay?” Hearing sniffles from your side of the car and seeing your shoulders shake, he pulled over to the side of the road and put the car in park. Gulping, he awkwardly reached out a hand to pat you on the back, but this only made you cry harder.

Looking up to face him, tear streaks staining your cheeks, you tried to stop shivering from shock. “S-Suna,” you mumbled, fighting to keep your voice from completely breaking, but another sob escaped before you could get anything more out.

“Wha’? Suna what?” he prodded, brow furrowing in concern. You rarely cried, so he knew this was something really serious.

“Suna c-cheated on me.” The last couple of words were whispered, your voice breaking, and Atsumu’s mouth dropped open. Of all the things he’d expected to hear, it wasn’t that. Your relationship with Suna had always seemed perfect. He’d seen the way Suna looked at you, his eyes soft, seen the way his behavior changed around you, seen his eyes light up whenever you smiled. This wasn’t possible.

He opened his mouth, shutting it again when words failed him. You were hunched in the passenger’s seat, shaking so hard he could hear your elbows accidentally hitting the car door. Without a second thought, he took his sweatshirt off and covered you with it, hoping that it would warm you up at least a little bit. 

“I- I’m so sorry,” he muttered, unsure how to comfort a clearly distraught you. As soon as your shudders subsided, his mind turned to Suna and what he would do next time he saw him. No doubt he deserved to be beat up for what he did to you, hurting you like that, but it just didn’t make sense. Suna was totally in love with you, and it was obvious to any outsider. 

He started the car again, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your shoulder, trying to calm you down. “Y/N, I’m gonna drop ya off at home, okay?”

A quick nod from you reassured him, and you two drove with just the raindrops crashing down on the roof of the car. When you arrived at your house, you made a motion to give back his sweatshirt, but he just waved a hand and said “Don’t worry about it. Ya can return it to me when I next see ya.” Your lips trembled and you turned away from him, making the way to your door and letting yourself in. He didn’t leave until he saw that you were inside, then started driving back to the gym.

You shed your jacket and turned on the heater in your house, not bothering to turn on the lights or draw the curtains. Kicking your shoes off, you crawled into bed and under your blanket and let the tears come, hugging the pillow that smelled too much like Suna.

Meanwhile at the gym, Suna was just finishing up and wondering where you’d gone to. The guilt of his mistake still hung with him, and he was looking to take you out to dinner tonight and spend some more time with you. However, when he saw his phone laying faceup, the bold words in text still plainly on the screen, he knew that you’d found out, and his heart contracted. Sinking to his knees, he struggled to breathe through the upcoming panic. He was in love with you, and he had no idea what had possessed him to fall into someone else’s arms for the night.

The feeling surged when he remembered that one of your biggest fears/insecurities was not being good enough, and a short gasp fell out of his mouth as he realized just how much he’d messed up. The gym door swung open, banging against the wall with the sheer force of the push. There stood Miya Atsumu, a murderous expression on his face.

“Suna!” He barked, and the middle blocker glanced up briefly before returning his attention to the phone clutched in his hands, frantically pressing the call button as it once again went straight to voicemail. The sound of your voice was almost too much for him to bear, his breathing accelerating and his head pounding. 

y/n please pick up please i’m so sorry i swear i didn’t mean it they mean nothing to me i love you i love you so much please don’t leave me

His fingers speed across the keyboard, hoping against hope that you’ll talk to him. Any sort of contact. The phone is suddenly knocked from his hand by Atsumu, the look on his face nothing short of furious. 

“What the fuck were ya thinking?” He spits, rage evident in the bulging veins of his neck. “You hurt y/n so badly that they had to drive home with me rather than face another second of ya.”

His words stung Suna, because they both knew they were true. He doesn’t resist when Atsumu pulls him to his feet, glaring at him and shoving him towards the wall. 

“You’re pathetic. Y/N is the best person ya will ever meet, and ya ruined it all.” Once again, Suna doesn’t reciprocate, his eyes falling miserably to the ground. Atsumu’s fist comes up and hits Suna straight in the stomach, forcing the breath out of his lungs as he collapses to the floor. Atsumu looks at him with an expression of pure disgust, walking away to leave Suna where he is, slumped against the wall.

His eyes are dull, the life drained out of them, because he knows Atsumu is right. A notification causes his phone to buzz and he picks it up immediately, hoping to see anything from you, but it’s just another text from the fling. Hatred for himself and the person fills him, and he slams his phone down, allowing his head to sink into his knees. 

He needs to see you, so he grabs his stuff and rushes to his car, barely remembering to lock the gym on his way out. Going ten miles above the speed limit, he makes it to your house ten minutes after you had. 

Walking up to your front door, he knocks urgently, over and over again. He hears shuffling from behind, and the door opens to reveal you in an oversize sweatshirt that doesn’t belong to him and sweatpants, eyes red and puffy from crying. 

The instant you see him, time seems to stop. The hurt is written all over your face, and the regret all over his. He can’t seem to move, can’t do anything besides whisper your name.

“Y/N.” 

You shake your head, new tears forming in the corners of your eyes, and turn away. “I don’t want to talk to you, Suna.” 

With those words, his heart shatters a little bit more. He was your Rin, your Rinnie, never Suna. “Please-” the door slams in his face and he hears the lock turning, signaling the final goodbye. He screams, pounding on your door as the panic overtakes him. 

“Please! I love you! I’m so sorry, just please don’t leave me! I’ll go insane if you do!” Tears stream down his face and yours, mourning each other on opposite sides of the door. His words wrack you, tempt you to open the door and forgive him, but you can’t. He already showed you he didn’t care.

Half an hour passes, with the yells from the door fading into whimpers. Finally, you hear a car door slam, and you allow yourself to sob, held immobile on the floor. 

You’re broken, and it’s his fault. His head falls onto the steering wheel, not caring that it sets off the car horn.

Still, the rain patters on the roof, both of you less than three hundred feet apart, but forever separated.

He’ll never love anyone like he loved you.

[kirindensetsu]

The Making of Fubuki

((Reposting from Den of Angels workshop thread because I wanted my friends to be able to see~))

After years of pining after dolls I couldn't afford as a broke teenager, my first BJD was a Bobobie Sprite I purchased for my 18th birthday. Unfortunately, she didn't live up to my expectations and I never really bonded with her. Her face was cute enough, but the Bobobie body lacked the grace and posing ability I imagined for the Unseelie faerie I'd been daydreaming of for years. Sueding and wiring didn't help, blushing and tattooing highlighted her blockiness, it was a mess. I packed her away and tried not to think about my disappointment for 12 years. In the meantime I learned to build and paint resin garage kits, inherited one of my sister's dolls, bought some others, took anatomy & physiology in college, and did a couple extensive restorations and full-body modifications. I was sure I had thrown her away at some point as a failed project, but last weekend I found her tucked away in a doll bag I thought was empty. Having just finished substantial mods on a Dollshe body, and awaiting an unfinished Unoa kit for my birthday in September, I decided that I owed it to her to try again. Doll nudity below the cut, looooong post--

My Sprite was originally going to be a pooka with golden eyes and extensive woad tattoos. The golden eyes are incredible, so those are staying, but she's now going to be a blue oni to fit in with the rest of my collection. My plan is to do extensive additive epoxy work, and then to use Krylon Fusion to give everything a unified finish. The goal of the project is to reduce the... idk, STRAIGHTNESS of the old Bobobie body. I was never going to be happy with it, the lines were all far too rigid.

Head: Modified mouth for a wider, smirking smile. Magnets added to headcap (old Bobobie used an S-hook iirc; I did this part back in 2008). Forehead drilled for 3mm brass rod armature, and epoxy used to sculpt horns over rod. Bust: Substantial subtractive modifications to breasts, which involved removal and readdition of nipples. Addition of epoxy clay to back and shoulders to give a more curved body line in profile. Deepening of shoulder sockets with 18mm eye bevel, followed by sanding to make shoulders narrower. Waist: Reshaping of upper torso joint into sphere for smoother range of motion. Subtraction of resin in back and addition of epoxy in front to enhance lumbar curve. Hips: Substantial reshaping of lower waist seam to more naturally follow the pelvic girdle. It reminded me of granny panties before  Added epoxy to butt, again for lumbar curve. Thighs: Suwariko joint mod (cut the thigh and added a PVC insert to enable swivelling at the hip). Added epoxy to make her thighs look less straight. Calves: Removed 1cm of length at the ankles and rebevelled the socket. Removed resin at the ankles to bring them in, and added epoxy at the calves to make them curvier. Feet: Sculpted little claws, which were cute, and then decided the feet needed to be 5mm longer. Cut across, drilled and pinned with brass rod for structural strength, gap filled with epoxy clay. I also modded her feet to have defined arches and balls back when I first got her. Alas, spitting into the ocean. I added S-hooks, but did so by drilling the ankle and inserting brass rod to form the axle for the hook. Arms: The proportions on her upper arms BOTHERED me! they were so SHORT! and I only just figured out that's what I hated about them last week! I added 5mm to the upper arms by cutting them in the middle and using SteelStik to make a structural repair (plumber's epoxy putty has a shorter open time but far greater structural strength than artist's epoxy clay). Sanded the heck out of the wrists to give them a more delicate taper. Hands: Beyond salvage. The hands were my least-favorite part of this sculpt. I tried to bulk them up to look less spidery but it was just too difficult... I've ordered a different pair of MSD hands which will have claws added, and then when everything is painted it'll all match. Thanks for reading this far! Here's a preview of what her golden eyes look like next to Krylon Fusion in Antique Blue.

((first progress post)) I think I'm mostly done adding epoxy clay (at least where it'll show; presumably the wrist sockets will require tweaks to fit the new hands), so now it's time for finish sanding. I start with 60 grit for shaping, then switch to a 120 grit sanding sponge. To check for scratches, pinholes, and inadequately feathered edges, I apply a wash of diluted acrylic paint. Once the paint has dried, I scrub the piece with a nylon scouring pad. Paint remains in the surface irregularities.

All sanded with 220 grit. I don't think I'll be going higher than 400 because I want there to be some tooth for the paint.

Any pitting in the epoxy clay that can't be sanded out is marked with a Sharpie and will be patched with Tamiya spot putty.

I did a test spray of the Krylon Fusion on the headcap and it's fantastic! Holy cow is it *poisonous* tho, I'm used to working with volatile chemicals but this was something else. Get OUT OF THE AREA between coats and leave it outside until it stops outgassing, not just until it's ready to handle.

This test piece is four light coats sprayed 1 minute apart, allowed to cure for 4 hours, and then wetsanded to remove the spray texture. It's pretty sturdy but I will wait several more days to see how it continues to cure before experimenting with matte sealants. ((progress update 2))

Haven't done much but sand-and-fill-and-sand-and-fill, but my 14mm beveller came in today so I can start deepening her elbow and ankle sockets. Added some epoxy clay to the insides of the eyewells so 14mm eyes will fit with no gap. I need a needle file to clean up the corners of her mouth... Monster feets! Nails on the right came out better than the left, still need to feather-sand everything.

Elbows progress. The early Bobobie elbows are I guess /technically/ double-jointed because the joint is a sphere with two slots, but I thought I could do better than that. You can see epoxy clay spliced in to make the sphere into a peanut: this isn't a structurally sound repair unless you pop it apart and drill/pin/glue-epoxy it back together.

View from the back. By keeping the joint heads spherical with no elbow-shaped detailing, there's some rotation as well as flexion, which I like.

Touching her face with one of her old hands. I hope the new ones come soon!

((progress update 4))

In good news, these parts are all ready for paint! It's really hard to do prepwork with no filler primer, hope I didn't miss any spots...

In less good news, her new hands arrived and they are... very smol ;u; I forgot that the new trend for slim minis means that everyone has TINY LITTLE HANDS.

They are, however, beautifully sculpted and a good 3D reference for what needs fixing and how. Bobobie palm is very short relative to fingers: I made a transverse cut behind the knuckles and added epoxy to lengthen More curved volume across the back of the hand: Not necessarily realistic, but looks a little cuter, plus it makes the transition into the cylinder of the wrist look less stylistically jarring. More defined joint angles: Some of these I did via cut-and-thermoform repositioning, mostly I'm aiming to fake it by building up and carving away at the weird smooth curves. The fingers are just TOO SKINNY: But obviously I'm not going to squish rice-grain-sized blobs of epoxy to the fingers, right? It's too fiddly, it doesn't want to stick. What's the solution? Brace for a truly hideous WIP image--

"AAAAAAGH WHAT IS THAT DARK GRAY MESS" it's JB Weld epoxy! It's like load-bearing, slow-curing modeller's putty! Slathering putty onto an armature and then carving it away to refine the shape is how anime figure artists make hands and detailed hair.  I was thinking about it from a polymer clay technique/perspective so I missed the obvious solution. Hand in the foreground has more layers than the hand in the background, every layer gets the shape a lil closer. ((progress post 5)) Parts set up on sticks so I can handle them without touching...

... and after 4 light coats!

Closeup of the head, lil' glossy because it's still drying. For the deeper areas like the joint slots, mouth, and the crannies of the ears, I'm going to have to decant some of the paint into a jar and apply it with a sacrificial brush.

((progress post 6)) I return from Depression! I finally finished sanding-and-spraying the Krylon Fusion coats, gave her a last polish with microfine to even out the texture, and have started blushing her. I'm using a mixture of Tamiya X-series acrylics applied via airbrush for basic contouring, then I'll go back in with pastel to add warm tones and details.

Fun discovery: in an attempt to cover some accidental overspray, I tried spraying the Fusion directly into the paint cup of the airbrush and using it to "erase" back to the base color. I'm NEVER using this product straight from the can again, it goes on so smooth and gorgeous from the airbrush! No orange peel or bubbles to sand away. I'm seriously tempted to get a can of pink and try blushing with it.

((progress post 7)) Doing a faceup over a spray-painted substrate is HARD I want to CRY. I talked about sanding out the spray texture to get an untextured surface, right? Welp, didn't/couldn't sand well enough in the corners of the mouth and the folds of the eyelids, so it's crusty-looking with pastels over it and now there's nothing I can do about it that doesn't involve stripping down to resin and starting again.

((final post)) Sueded and strung!

I didn't take pictures of the sueding process because I was using Barge Cement and it is messy and time-sensitive. I used masking tape to make templates of her joints, transferred to some thin gray lamb suede I found on eBay, and glued it fuzzy side out. The suede was thicker than real pliver, more like the thickness of silicone KIPS discs, but I think it worked out without too many fit issues. The trim store had 3.5mm elastic in a beautiful slate-blue color that I thought would look nicer in the joint slots, so she's strung throughout with thicker elastic. Some more poses to show off the functional mods~ Suwariko joints let her sit crosslegged, and more mobile wrists let her put her hands into the pose.

A more ball-and-socked shaped contact surface at her waist lets her slouch at a full range of angles instead of being locked into two.

With longer upper arms, she can reach the ground in this pose! You can also see how the modded waist joint lets her cock her hips.

She could always stand with locked knees. I think she needs some wire in her legs to let the suwariko joints hold their rotation against gravity, but I'll see how the elastic tension settles in first.

A parting shot out the snowy window. We've been having a hard time picking between a few names for her, but I think this settles it. Welcome back, Fubuki~

[blackcoffee85]

With Love

Pairing: Liam x Savi

Word Count: 1538

Rating: PG

Description: This one shot with Liam and Savi was written to address the “sharing a dessert” prompt assigned to me by @brightpinkpeppercorn

Author's Note/Disclaimer: Content warning for mentions of parental death. All characters (with the exception of Savi) are from The Royal Romance Choices series and belong to Pixelberry.

Tags: @ladynonsense @bobasheebaby @hopefulmoonobject @ritachacha @callmetippytumbles @indiacater @knndyj @zaffrenotes @annekebbphotography @aworldoffandoms @thequeenofcronuts @darley1101 @super-secret-fandom-blog @ownworldresident

“Bastien, can you please come to my office?” Queen Savi Rhys of Cordonia inquires over the phone with the Cordonian Head of Palace Security, Bastien Lykel.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I will be down to your office momentarily.”

Hanging up the phone while she awaits Bastien's arrival, Savi resumes picking at the small locked box on her desk she found hidden deep within her right bottom desk drawer.

“Your Majesty, you rang?” Bastien's tall silhouette bellows from the open doorway.

“Yes. Please do come in. I have something to show you that I may need your assistance with.”

Bastien steps into the office, joining Savi as she continues to pick at the box. “Bastien, as I was reorganizing my files today, I stumbled across this box deep within my desk drawer. I have tried to open it, but it seems that I do not have the proper key to do so. Have you seen this box before? Do you happen to have the key to it?”

Bastien's eyes grow wide as the realization of when and with whom he last saw the box on Savi's desk. “Your Majesty, I do recognize that box...it belonged to Liam's mother, Queen Nari.”

Anxious anticipation radiates through Savi which amplifies her desire to unlock the box. “Bastien, we HAVE to get into this box!” The key has got to be in my office, Savi thought to herself. Maybe, it is somewhere in an obvious location. Savi starts to feel under the desk drawer that contained the mysterious box.

“BINGO!” Dropping her royal facade, Savi shouts after locating a small key taped to the underside of the drawer. Now, let's hope it opens this box! Savi inherited the desk in her office most recently from Regina, and then Liam's late mother. I wonder how Regina never stumbled upon this box? Shrugging her shoulders, Savi discards the tape from the key into the trash bin under her desk and clicks the key into the lock, hearing a soft release to confirm that she indeed had the right key. Opening the box, Savi locates a sole unaddressed envelope that was stamped shut with the Cordonian Queen’s crest.

Opening the envelope, Savi reached in and pulled out the following letter from Queen Nari addressed to...her.

To the Woman My Son Loves:

These are dangerous times Cordonia finds herself in. If you are reading this letter it means I have passed away and am not able to have this conversation with you, my daughter-in-law in person or see my precious Liam grow up to be the benevolent prince he is destined to become. I don't know who you are or how Liam found you, but I know that if Liam has chosen you as a wife that you mean the world to him. Regardless of his royal lineage, one of my hopes for Liam is for him to find a partner and share in the same intense love that I have found with Liam’s father, Constantine. I hope Liam and Constantine use my memory to uplift their spirits as I know I have passed away with unending joy in my heart because of them and Leo.

I was not there for Liam (or you) on your wedding day, but that does not stop me from extending to you an additional something both borrowed and new. Since I was pregnant with Liam he has always loved baklava. During the first trimester of my pregnancy, I denied myself sweets. Liam was my first pregnancy and I wanted to make sure that I remained healthy for his sake (I call that part of my pregnancy the “first-time mom worries”). And rightfully so! Not only was I a queen, but I was also carrying an heir to the throne! When I was about four months into my pregnancy with Liam, I finally reintroduced sweets and had baklava for the first time during my pregnancy. Baklava was one of the food items Liam would allow me to keep down and I also distinctly remember Liam kicking me each time I ate it. I took this as a sign that Liam both loved baklava and that he would demonstrate strength in ways I could not foresee. I write to you to share with you my baklava recipe that was passed down from Liam’s grandmother (Constantine’s mother) and altered to better fit my tastes.

May this recipe help us to bond in our own way, my daughter. May you love each other fiercely and bring each other happiness. Above all else, may you be a shining example of Cordonian royalty.

With Love,

Queen Nari

Tears in her eyes, Savi’s hands shake as she attempts to carefully place the letter down on her desk with her left hand while reaching into the envelope for the recipe with her right hand.

“Your majesty, are you alright?” Bastien inquires, stress lines creased into his forehead.

“I am perfect, Bastien,” Savi extends him a gentle smile before continuing. “So much so that I have the perfect surprise when Liam returns from Italy.” Turning over her wrist, Savi peers at her watch and realizes she has just enough time before Liam returns.

Moving as fast as she could for a woman in her condition, Savi runs out of her office and into the royal palace suite.

****

“Savi, Love, I'm home!” Liam calls out from the door having returned from Italy for a renegotiation of Italian/Cordonian tax incentives. Before he takes another step, a familiar scent hits his nose, leaving waves of nostalgia and a sudden yearning for his mother.

“Liam, honey, I'm in the kitchen. Set your bags down and come and join me.”

Liam walks to the kitchen in anticipation of what he may see given the smells that assaulted his nose when he entered their home. Upon seeing Savi, the anticipation melted away and was replaced with love and longing. Liam missed his chocolate drop while he was away.

“Please have a seat, my king, and close your eyes. I have something special for you.”

Liam sits at the table with his eyes closed and Savi kisses Liam on the cheek before walking to the stove to pull out the baklava she was keeping warm in the oven.

“Are your eyes still closed?” Savi questions Liam with her back turned to him.

“Yes they are my queen, but I smell something familiar, and it smells delicious!”

“How do you know it's not me?” Savi smirks awaiting Liam’s response.

Liam lets out a laugh that emanates from the depths of his stomach as Savi cuts and plates several pieces of baklava, returning to the table to sit next to Liam. Savi quietly places Nari’s letter faceup in his direction and the plate of baklava between the two of them.

“Liam, open your mouth and take a bite.” Liam obeys Savi’s command. Upon biting into his surprise, Liam opens his eyes as a wave of emotions washes over him.

“How did you?! This tastes just like my mother's!”

Liam stumbles over his words as tears begin to well in his eyes. He looks down and sees the letter from his mother Savi has placed in front of him. Seeing Liam taking in his mother’s final words, Savi watches his tears, now free falling, as she grabs his hand and intertwines her fingers with his.

Having finished the letter, Liam looks up into Savi’s red eyes that match his own.

“I stumbled upon that letter today, shortly before you were due home while I was working in my office. The way that you speak about your mother and your mannerisms I have observed over the years helped me to understand how much of your personality you adopted from her even though she died when you were very young. As she mentioned in the letter she wanted me making the baklava to be a bonding experience between me and her, but what I don't think she prepared for was for it to also become a bonding experience between me and you. You are the love of my life, Liam, and I would do anything to see you happy. I hope me making this baklava is one of many ways that I will continue to show you the fierce love I have for you and the happiness that both your mother and I would like for us to maintain in our marriage.”

“Savi, you have already given me more than I could have ever dreamed to have. You know what we have been through and who knows what still awaits us. Thank you for doing this for me and for sharing this moment with both me and my mother.”

“You know that I'm not one to shy away from emotions but may I please have some of that baklava now? I made it for you but have yet to sample my creation!”

“Absolutely,” Liam chuckles, running his hands over his eyes. “Just like you fed me, it is my turn to feed you.” Liam takes a piece of the baklava from the plate and places it into Savi’s mouth.

“Mmmmm...this IS good!” After a couple of bites, Savi feels movement in her stomach.

“Liam! Baby Rhys just kicked!”

[shoelace-noose]

#029 | For a Hot Shower

Alek Ward/Klaus Hargreeves. There are prerequisites for going to Klaus’ father’s funeral.

Word Count: 671

Klaus stares down at the array of concealers he stole from the drugstore. He normally just wears eyeliner, maybe a bit of mascara or lipgloss, but he's supposed to go home tonight and fake mourn his father, and really, he doesn't want to deal with the questions surrounding his black eye on top of the snide remarks about his addiction and clothing and whatnot. Family reunions are always so fun.

He tries the palest shade first, pushing the applicator against the tender mark and leaving a thick spot of cream. It looks like it'll be a close enough match, but then as he blends it out, he realizes it does a shitty job covering the bruise. Sure it's not as bad anymore, but it's definitely noticeable. So he smears more on and tries to make it less obvious with his fingers, still with no luck. He knows concealer can do magical shit, because Allison used to help him hide bite marks on his neck with it, but it just isn't working this time around. The world is conspiring against him, he thinks, staring at himself in the mirror. The concealer looks cakey and gross.

It would do him will to shower before he goes anyways. His hair is sticky with days old product, there's an itch under his skin from a layer of dried sweat induced by last night's high, and now the concealer needs to be washed off because it doesn't work and just feels weird on his face. He's grateful to have moved in with his fiancé because it means he can shower whenever he wants, with hot water even! And he has a nice warm bed to sleep in, and food in the fridge to cook for the two of them with, and he's not shamed or yelled at for needing to get high to keep the ghosts at bay.

Klaus sighs as steam begins to flood the bathroom just after he turns the water on, letting his oversized borrowed clothes pool on the tile before stepping under the spray. Before coming here, it had been years since he took a good hot shower with water pressure beyond a gentle drizzle down the back of his neck. He reaches for the shampoo and hums to himself, thinking about going home. He's missed baths. This shower is just a stall one, so he can't take a relaxing soak, but it's better than nothing.

Just as he's starting to massage the gel out of his curls, he hears the front door open. There was a time that would terrify him, but he knows not to be scared now. It's just Alek. When the bathroom door opens soon after, he even has a smile on his face.

“Gonna join me?” He asks, even knowing the shower isn't big enough for them both. “Because I need to ask you about leaving for the weekend. Turns out my dad died so my family is having a mourning ceremony or some shit. Don't wanna go, but I have to.”

The stall door flies open, the water shuts off, and Klaus finds himself held against the plastic like wall by his throat, staring into angry blue eyes. There was a time this would have made him laugh, joke, initiate some fun. But now he knows not to resist or make light of the situation.

“You talked to them without permission?”

“Not exactly? Diego texted me but I didn't answer-”

“Who said you could look at your phone?”

“It was faceup on the counter, I didn't even touch it!”

His head whips to the side as Alek backhands him, a familiar sensation he doesn't dare react to. He knows what he did wrong. No respect. It's the least he could do given everything that Alek does for him to keep him safe and off the streets. He loves him more than anyone else ever has. Klaus is lucky to have him.

“I'm sorry…”

“Finish showering and get dressed. You can go, but I'm coming with you.”

[renegade2026]

TOM HARDY SAVES THE DAY (NO, REALLY)

One of the most intense actors of our time agreed to take us on a motorcycle tour of his hometown—and then the day spun way off-script.

ERIC SULLIVAN AUG 7, 2018

We're at the first stop on Tom Hardy’s literal tour down memory lane, and he’s already causing trouble. The caretaker of St. Leonard’s Court, an apartment building in the leafy London suburb of East Sheen, comes out to the driveway to say that a tenant has lodged a noise complaint. Hardy leans back in the saddle of the offending source, a Triumph Thruxton fitted with a not-so-subtle 1200cc engine. “Must be hard for someone who’s home at 3:00 p.m. on a Tuesday doing fuck-all, innit?” he says to the caretaker, who’s already in retreat. Then, overriding his knee-jerk snark: “It won’t happen again.”

“I’m the youngest person to own a flat on this block,” Hardy, forty, tells me, sounding both proud and bemused. He bought the place fifteen years ago, moved out six years later, and now uses it as a crash pad for out-of-town guests. He didn’t choose the location for its social scene, if the few geriatric residents shuffling by are any indication. Rather, he was the prodigal son returned: He grew up in the upper-middle-class community, the only child of Chips, an adman and writer, and Ann, an artist. His parents still live nearby.

“Ready for the five-dollar tour?” he asks. Our plan is to trace the path from what he calls his “privileged bourgeois background” to the upper-upper-class town of Richmond, where he now lives with his wife, actor Charlotte Riley, and their child, his second. (He also has a ten-year-old son with assistant director Rachael Speed.) The journey is short in distance—a little more than two miles—but ultramarathon-long in life experience.

“Behind the Laura Ashley curtains, there was naughtiness and fuckeries!” he begins like an overenthused docent. I point out that’s a line he’s delivered many times to many writers. He shrugs. “It’s easier to say that than to go deep-sea diving into it.” To Hardy, a fiercely private man and a reluctant public figure, the canned story serves the useful purpose of making an unsuspecting person feel like they’re getting to know the real Tom. “Should we fuck off?” he asks as we pull on our gear. Except for the beat-up jeans, his five-foot-nine frame is covered in black, from his helmet to his motorcycle boots. We get on our bikes and fuck off.

Five minutes later, just past the prep school he attended as a boy, Hardy spots a commotion, and we pull over. A woman, blood covering her face, lies faceup, half on the sidewalk and half in the street. A few bystanders are crouched around. As Hardy approaches, he says, “I know her.”

It's Mae, the mother of one of Hardy’s childhood best friends. [Some names have been changed.] He drops to one knee and takes her hand in his. Someone in the crowd tells us that Mae tripped while walking her dog. She’s slipping in and out of consciousness.

“Mae, it’s Tommy,” Hardy says. “Squeeze my hand. Keep talking to us. Can you open your eyes?” She moans. He tries out a joke. “Are you Canadian?” he asks. She manages a word: “No. ” He says, “Not even a little Canadian?” She doesn’t reply. By the time the ambulance arrives, Mae is responding, but barely. Shortly after, her son Albert pulls up on his bicycle. When he sees his mother laid out, he bites his fist. Hardy wraps his arms around his friend, both to comfort him and to keep him at a safe distance.

The paramedics load Mae onto a stretcher, and Hardy asks if they can bring Albert, too, then asks again to make sure they remember. They say yes, but they’ll first check Mae’s vitals.

After the ambulance doors close, Hardy turns his attention back to Albert. “Your mom took a whack to the forehead. But I’m not concerned immediately, ’cause she’s responding better than when we arrived. And ’cause they’re not rushing off. You settle in at the hospital, and then we’ll meet you.” Albert protests, but Hardy stops him. “I’m one of your best mates, and I love you.” He slips money into Albert’s pocket. “Just for now,” he says. As soon as the ambulance leaves, bound for Kingston Hospital, he calls Albert’s wife.

For the half hour we’ve been here, Hardy has not stopped moving. He’s talked himself through each step as if checking off boxes on a crisis to-do list. Suddenly, he turns to me and considers our circumstances. We began the day as writer and subject, but that dynamic dissolved the moment he saw Mae. “There was no interview here,” he says. “We find ourselves in a situation where we needed to put everything on hold.” A smile cracks across his face. “Welcome to my neighborhood. I told you there’s always something to find behind the Laura Ashley curtains.”

Private Tom and Public Hardy: These are the two sides that define him. That his time is split between work life and family life, and that his obligations toward both are sometimes at odds, isn’t unique. However, his steadfast struggle to separate them is; he’d be thrilled if never the two should meet. But they do, with increasing frequency, in ways that are beyond his control.

Public Hardy may be an accomplished actor in the U. S., but in his home country he’s a national treasure. In June, he was awarded the title Commander of the Order of the British Empire, which, while not as prestigious as knighthood, is on the same scale. In February, Glamour UK named him the sexiest man of 2018. Madame Tussauds in London recently displayed his likeness reclining on an oxblood chesterfield couch, one arm perched atop the back cushion like an invitation. (“Cosy up to Tom on his leather sofa and feel his heartbeat and the warmth of his torso in what is surely the hottest seat in town,” hypes the wax museum’s site.) He tells well-worn anecdotes to keep Private Tom concealed, and he’s always on alert.

We meet for the first time the day before the accident, at the Bike Shed, a motorcycle club and café in Shoreditch where, last year, he spent his fortieth birthday. It’s Hardy’s favorite place in London—not surprising, as he’s an investor in the company, which plans to open a location in Los Angeles soon. Every few minutes during our conversation, he nods hello to yet another bearded, inked-up passerby. He’s wearing a loose T-shirt and cargo pants with enough pockets to fit all the world. Brown fuzz dusts the crown of his head. A copper beard stippled with gray blankets the lower half of his face.

He answers my first question—how he’s doing—without missing a beat: “I’m tired.” He’s been working a lot, mostly on Marvel’s Venom (October 5), in which he plays the title role, a reporter named Eddie Brock whose body is hijacked by an alien symbiote. Venom has remained one of Spider-Man’s best-known foes since he first appeared in comic-book form in the late eighties. At times, he’s an outright villain; at others, including in Hardy’s hands, he’s more of an antihero. He can’t discuss the plot, but he says the tone of the movie, directed by Ruben Fleischer (Zombieland), is “dark and edgy and dangerous.”

The three-month shoot, which ended in January, took him to Atlanta, New York, and San Francisco, where the movie is set. “I see America by where the tax breaks are,” he jokes. Next, he headed to New Orleans to play a syphilitic Al Capone in Fonzo, directed by Josh Trank (Chronicle). That crew went hard: nineteen hours a day for six weeks. The day they wrapped, he flew home, threw on a suit, and attended the royal wedding with Riley. (All he’ll say about why they landed the coveted invite is that “it’s deeply private” and “Harry is a fucking legend.”) The work wasn’t the hardest thing; it was, he says, spending such long stretches away from his family.

Yet workwise, Hardy has arrived at what you might call a stakes moment, one that’s twenty years in the making. At the dawn of his career, after landing just two small roles, albeit in big projects—Band of Brothers and Black Hawk Down—he scored his first major part, as the bald, asexual villain in 2002’s Star Trek: Nemesis. But the movie tanked, snuffing buzz over his excellent performance. Five years of forgettable films and a few distinguished stage performances passed before Hardy played lead roles that fully showcased his talents: the homeless drug addict with a heart of gold in the BBC’s Stuart: A Life Backwards (2007), for which he shed nearly thirty pounds, and the most violent inmate in Britain in Bronson (2009), for which he packed on fifteen pounds of muscle.

Physical change is just part of Hardy’s exacting, chameleonlike transformations. “One can embellish with flair or an accent,” he says. “But ultimately you need to ground the character in some form of recognizable truth.” Hardy will talk your ear off about acting theory— Stanislavsky versus Adler, presentation versus representation, the use of clowning and mask work. “I’m a complete geek about it,” he says. But those seams don’t show. At his best, Hardy so thoroughly embodies a character, in both body and spirit, that he all but disappears.

Take a scene from 2015’s The Revenant. Hardy plays Fitzgerald, the coldhearted fur trapper and the target of revenge for Leonardo DiCaprio’s Glass. One night, around a campfire, Fitzgerald makes a veiled threat to a suspicious travel companion. He never raises his voice, but it’s as if he’s ripped out the man’s heart. Hardy’s performance earned him both an Oscar nomination and, after losing a bet with DiCaprio over whether he’d receive such recognition, a tattoo on his right arm that reads leo knows all.

His knack for magnetic unease can inject a blockbuster with edge: Mad Max: Fury Road, Inception, and, most notably, The Dark Knight Rises. But aside from Fury Road, whenever he’s assumed the lead role—Lawless, Warrior, This Means War, The Drop, Locke, Legend, Child 44—the results have come up short critically, commercially, and sometimes both. Venom is Hardy’s most visible role yet.

“Sounds like a lot of pressure, doesn’t it?” he half-jokes. But he says he’s not concerned about box-office returns; as always, he’s consumed with building a good character. He admits he knew little about Venom when he first read the script. “So I spoke to the only person I could really trust in this environment: my older boy.” His comic-book-loving son “was a huge influence on me doing the role.”

Hardy prepped for the movie for more than a year. He undergoes a rigorous process to shape each performance, complete with its own argot. A script is a “case file,” to be “unpacked” via “investigation.” He often begins by using personalities, both real and fictive, as lodestars toward which he guides his portrayal. The voice he developed for Al Capone in Fonzo is based on Bugs Bunny’s; to prove it, he plays me a clip of the raw footage on his phone. Sure enough, he sounds like the cartoon rabbit with a severe case of vocal fry. In Venom, the dual roles of Eddie Brock and Venom reminded him of three wildly different traits of three wildly different people: “Woody Allen’s tortured neurosis and all the humor that can come from that. Conor McGregor—the überviolence but not all the talking. And Redman”—the rapper—“out of control, living rent-free in his head.” Those are not details he revealed to the execs at Sony, which is producing the movie. “You don’t say shit like that to the studio,” he says.

“IF THE ODDS ARE STACKED AGAINST SONY, THAT’S NOT MY FUCKING BUSINESS. IT'S IRRELEVANT.

“If the odds are stacked against Sony, that’s not my fucking business,” Hardy says. “It’s irrelevant.” He burnishes an image of himself as a creative lone wolf, and in the third person no less: “Tom is very mercenary when it comes to work. I cannot give a fuck what the writer, or the director, or Larry in Baltimore thinks about my choices.” (He later clarifies the perspective shift: “Sometimes I talk in the third person because it’s a lot easier to see myself at work as a piece of meat. So when Tommy says he doesn’t give a fuck what you think, it’s only because I give too much of a fuck, and it gets to a point where it stifles me.”) But it’s hard to square his claims of artistic purity with the occasional very non-lone-wolf detail like, “Market research shows that the biggest fan base for Venom is ten-year-old boys in South America.”

If this movie does well, there will be sequels. And if Sony builds its cinematic Spidey universe, Hardy may well appear in those, too. Beyond those commitments, he’s vague about his post-Fonzo plans, most of which don’t involve acting. “What I’d like to do is produce. Write. Direct,” he says. Through his production company, Hardy Son & Baker, he’s working on the second season of Taboo, a moody period drama set in early-1800s London that he stars on and cowrites with his father. The first season was a mixed bag—its premiere ranks as one of the most streamed episodes of any BBC show, but historians criticized its accuracy and U. S. viewers met its FX airing with indifference—yet his stature is such that the BBC green-lighted the second season. He also optioned Once a Pilgrim, a thriller by a veteran of the Parachute Regiment, the elite airborne infantry of the British army; he’s considering directing the adaptation.

Hardy’s future looks rosy. And yet, more than anything, he feels worn down. Physically, sure: He’s walking with a limp. He says he tore his right meniscus on the set of Venom, but he doesn’t know how it happened. “At the end of a job, I normally end up on the side of the road,” he says. “And then carrying the toddler around on my shoulders. . .” He lets loose a two-note cackle. “Things get in the way of looking after yourself.”

But the fatigue is also mental. Maybe it’s because the growing demands of the job, especially the time spent far from his wife and children, are beginning to outweigh its diminishing gratification. When I ask if being forty has changed how he feels about his career, this time he answers in the second person. “You’ve summited Everest. It’s a miracle that you’ve made it anywhere near the fucking mountain, let alone climbed it. Do you want to go all the way back and do it again? Or do you want to get off the mountain and go fucking find a beach?” He tugs his left temple so hard that it looks like the skin might tear. “What is it that draws you to the craft? At this age, I don’t know anymore. I’ve kind of had enough. If I’m being brutally honest, I want to go on with my life.”

After the ambulance leaves with Mae and Albert, Hardy suggests that we stop at a few places on our way to the hospital. Not for my benefit, but for his friend’s. “Albert needs to be alone with his mum and his thoughts,” he says. “He’s going to be taking care of her, so it’s important he pays attention. Sometimes, when there are other people around, that’s hard to do.” Hardy isn’t trying to swashbuckle; he’s thinking of how to best help two loved ones. And, apparently, a guy he just met: Looking me up and down, he says, “We’ve had a bit of a shock ourselves. We could use some sugar.” We set out for a refreshment stand in a nearby park he first came to as a toddler with his mother to paddle around the kiddie pool, and then as a teen with Albert and others to play rugby.

When we arrive, the stand is closed. As we get back on our bikes, a father walks by carrying his son, a chubby boy with an explosion of straw-colored curls. “How old are you?” Hardy asks the boy. “He’s two,” the dad beams.

“When will you be three?” Hardy asks.

“July,” the toddler says softly.

“That’s really soon!” he says. “You’re a bit older than my youngest, who’ll be three in October. Oh, you’ll be a big boy by then. You’re already a big boy. Do you want to sit on my bike?” The boy buries his face in his father’s chest. “I appreciate I’ve made you feel nervous. This is what I will do: I will disappear,” he says, which could double as his two-sentence acting manifesto. He revs his engine over and over. As we depart, the boy watches Hardy, his mouth agape.

We cut into Richmond Park, a twenty-five-hundred-acre expanse that’s equal parts polished and untamed. When something catches Hardy’s attention—stags in the brush, a view of the Thames, a tree with knotted bark—he raises two fingers to his eyes in a V, then points so I see it too, like I’m his Dunkirk wingman.

We pull over at a dead end. With our engines rumbling, Hardy tells me that his parents moved to this part of London to enroll him in the best schools they could afford. The area is among the wealthiest in the UK, but it’s also an economic patchwork where council houses sit blocks away from mansions. “Growing up, you mix and mingle. You can sit in the shit if you want to, or you can make something of yourself,” he says. “Or you can end up under too much pressure and fading out young.”

As a child, Hardy had a strong relationship with Ann, but he butted heads with Chips. Father and son made up years ago, and Hardy resists going into detail about their difficult past. “My father was the most wonderful of teachers in a world that can be cruel,” he allows. “He treated me like an adult, as opposed to changing his persona for his child. There was no filter. Do you understand? No filter.”

In his teens, Hardy wobbled. “The centrifugal force in my life is a natural disposition to not be happy with the way I feel,” he says. That, combined with a robust contrarian bent—“Nine times out of ten, when somebody says, ‘Don’t do that,’ my instinct is to say, ‘That has to be done’ ”—got him into a fair bit of trouble. He hung out with the wrong crowds; he fought in school. “I grew up in the neighborhood being a dick,” he says. “I’ve learned and will continue to learn from being a dick. To try and somehow chisel myself into being a human being so I can respect myself when I look in the mirror. And that’s a procedure that will go on until I die.”

Starting at thirteen, he struggled with alcoholism and other addictions. He still has a soft spot for those with similar demons. In April 2017, when two kids riding stolen mopeds were T-boned at an intersection and tried to run, Hardy, who lived nearby, apprehended one of them. The Sun headline sums up how the press covered the incident: “Tom Hardy Catches Thief After Dramatic Hollywood-Style Chase Through Streets Before Proudly Saying, ‘I’ve Caught the C**t.’ ” He disputes the details of what was reported— “It wasn’t much of a chase; when I found him, he was in fucking rag order”—but that’s beside the point. The tabloids missed the real story: After the incident, he tracked down the kid he turned in and got him help. “He must stand accountable for what he’s done,” Hardy tells me. “But he’s got issues, and he’s in a bad way. Do we just give up on a sixteen-year-old?”

As a boy, Hardy was given second, third, and fourth chances. Along the way, he discovered that acting offered an outlet for his baneful discontent. He attended one drama school, then another, got kicked out twice, and was cast in Band of Brothers before he graduated.

Still, for years, he questioned his chosen path. Hardy even signed up for a Parachute Regiment training course—but never followed through. “Oh, mate, I did so much backpedaling,” he says. “The reality is that where I belonged was not there. The last person defending the realm was Mr. Hardy.” He calls the decision to back out “one of my biggest regrets. I wonder what life would’ve been like. I would’ve loved to have served and been useful.”

In 2003, at twenty-five, Hardy cleaned up with the help of a twelve-step program—he calls it “my first port of call”—and he’s been sober ever since. “It was hard enough for me to say, ‘I’m an alcoholic.’ But staying stopped is fucking hard.” Sitting on his Triumph, at the center of the place that held all the risks and possibilities that would define him, Hardy sounds almost wistful.

We take off through the park. He rides with his legs bowed out, his left hand resting on his knee, and his right hand holding steady on the throttle. When he rips on a vape pen, white plumes swirl around his head and dissipate into the damp air.

We head to Richmond. The town sits within the borders of Greater London, but its roots are as much in the countryside as in the city. Generations of famous Brits seeking refuge have called it home: Queen Elizabeth I liked hunting stags in the park; Charles I relocated his court here to avoid the plague; Mick Jagger lived near the Thames with Jerry Hall, who, though now married to Rupert Murdoch, apparently still co-owns the home they shared.

We stop at a café around the corner from Hardy’s place. The wall between us that crumbled upon seeing Mae—or seemed to, anyway—is fortified just as quickly. When Private Tom reaches playfully for my stack of questions and I instinctively pull them back, he casts a leery eye. “I see I’m not in the circle of trust,” Public Hardy says, when in fact I just got booted from his.

“Can I get a double espresso?” he asks our waiter.

“For sure,” the waiter says. “By the way, big fan. I always know if you’re in a movie, it’s going to be a good one.”

“Thanks. But don’t put your money on that,” Hardy says. “I’ve got to be crap at some point.”

“I would say you’re one of my top three best,” the waiter says. “Action actors,” he clarifies.

“I think I’m a bit too old now for action.”

“Except for the next Expendables,” the waiter jokes.

“I’m tempted to ask who the other two are,” Hardy says after the waiter walks off. “I showed great restraint. Great restraint.” He might claim that the opinions of others don’t matter, but this is driving him crazy. “Who are the fuckers?”

When the waiter returns, I ask. “Mark Wahlberg,” he says without delay, as if he were waiting for the question. Hardy, stone-faced, says nothing. “And Matt Damon.”

Finally, Hardy speaks. “Can I give you this?” he says, handing over a plate, any plate, just to send the waiter on his way. Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “Thanks, man. Good company.”

He deals with this sort of thing all the time. “I’ve crossed the line of being a public figure. And I accept that means to a certain degree I’m public property,” he says, “even though I project an image of myself to them,” acknowledging Public Hardy in all but name. Most people he meets are lovely. But “the downside of being overt is you invite darkness,” he says. “It only takes one person to cause real harm.” He defends himself as if someone has called him out. “That’s not being paranoid. That’s just facts.”

“THE DOWNSIDE OF BEING OVERT IS YOU INVITE DARKNESS. IT ONLY TAKES ONE PERSON TO CAUSE REAL HARM.”

By filtering which parts of himself become public, he’s mostly okay with the balance of Private Tom and Public Hardy. Except, that is, when it comes to his children. “I will pose for you, and photos of me and my wife are fine,” he says. “But if someone takes a photo of my kids, all bets are off. I will take the camera off you and beat the fucking shit out of you.” His voice contains no hint of exaggeration. “That’s the one that hurts. My kids didn’t ask for what my job is.” He pauses. “There’s something that really upsets me about the imposition of a grown-up world on a child.”

When we spoke earlier about his relationship with Chips, he said he was working to become a better father by learning from the mistakes of his own. “In trying to protect my children, I’ll probably give them their own dose of problems,” he told me. “But I don’t want them to go through what I went through.”

At Kingston Hospital, we make our way to Mae’s room. She’s feeling better, but dried blood still cakes her face. She and Albert don’t know who or what to expect next, or how long it will be. Hardy asks what she remembers—“Hit the pavement,” she says. “Made a nice sound”—and what still hurts. We unload snacks we brought, and then we wait.

The three relax into a familiar rhythm. Age has smoothed but not erased the boys’ mischief and the mom’s sass. Hardy jokes to Mae, “All right, lovely, want salt-and-vinegar chips with a side of infectious disease? Pick up a little souvenir?” She smirks.

Hardy squeezes some sanitizer onto his hands and rubs it, then reaches for a chip. “Don’t do that,” Mae says. “Wipe off your hands first. It’s not for eating.”

“It’s better than eating disease,” Albert weighs in. “I’d rather be sanitized to death.”

“I’m gonna take my chances,” Hardy says.

“How’s your mum and dad?” she asks.

“Very good, actually,” he says. “It was my mum’s birthday last week.”

“Twenty-one again?”

“I’m glad to see you’re cracking jokes,” Albert says.

“Me too,” Mae says.

When she leaves the room with the help of a nurse, Hardy turns to Albert and delivers a dose of optimism: “She’s walking, mate. That’s a good sign. The next thing we’re going to get is an X-ray, or maybe a CT scan if they’re concerned about bleeding or swelling in the brain. They’ve got to check all the boxes.”

Once Mae is back, Hardy steps out to talk to the nurse without saying why. “Is he using his celebrity powers?” Albert asks me. “Not the first time I’ve witnessed that.” He laughs, then quiets. “But it’s a nice tool to have.”

Hardy returns without explanation. A few minutes later, the nurse comes in. “She’s going to be seen next.”

Like that, Mae is at the top of the list.

Though Hardy is coy about how much he played the fame card, it’s clear his job here is done. As we say goodbye, Mae pulls him in close. “I want you to know that I have plans to see Venom,” she says. “You’ve done something that’s close to my heart. You know I’m a sci-fi freak.”

“You’re gonna enjoy this one,” Hardy says. “This one’s just for you. And for my boy.”

Hardy wants to exert control over his world. The brutal irony is that the more successful he becomes, the more the world controls him. But as we walk out of the hospital, I suggest that while his celebrity might feel like a burden, in the instance of Mae and Albert it was . . . He finishes my sentence: “Perfect.”

At the exit, an orderly chases us down. “Tom! Tom Hardy!” We stop. “I just love your movies. Can I take a picture?” Two more fans follow. He smiles as they gather around in the hospital parking lot and start snapping selfies.

This article appears in the September '18 issue of Esquire.

https://www.esquire.com/entertainment/movies/amp22627852/tom-hardy-venom-fonzo-september-cover/

[montydollcrew]

Event Report - Doll Show 53 (Early Summer Asakusa) Part 1

Last week there were two doll events in Tokyo - Doll Show and Dolpa. Dolpa was only the day after! I went to both. 

Jasper came with me, mainly because I had already looked up the dealers list and knew that there would be people selling clothes made for Dearmine Beans, which are a tricky size to fit due to their big thighs not fitting standard Obitsu11 stuff unless its extremely stretchy like the leggings he’s had till now. (If you’re wondering why he no longer has blushing on his ears, long story short I screwed up glueing his magnets back in after they came out and the only way to remove them was to use acetone to dissolve the glue, which meant losing the blushing. I do plan to redo it once I get some pink pastels)

This was also my first Doll Show! I had considered only going to Dolpa, but Doll Show is an event for all dolls while Dolpa is only for Volks products, so Doll Show is a good way to see all kinds of other dolls. The event started at 11am, but tickets were being sold from 8am. In order to get a priority entry ticket and be allowed in first, you had to be there from 8...which is what I did, because I wanted to buy some stuff from Ronronshuka for a friend and since she’s so popular, her stuff disappears pretty quickly. The priority entry were tickets with random numbers on them which determined your place in the priority line - I think it was between 1-500, but it could have also been up to 900. (I forgot what I had, it was around 240 or so I think, so not bad)

Besides Jasper I’d also bought Mel’s headless body along, as I was meeting constellar (who was visiting Japan mainly for Dolpa) to get his head back with the new faceup. I will do a pic spam of him later, but he looked absolutely wonderful and I can’t get over it.

Here he is impatiently waiting in line. Anyway, Doll Show was comprised of 3 floors in the building it was in. The 7th floor had the ticket sales as well as Azone International’s booth (they do sales as well as unveil new products at Doll Show), while floors 5-6 were for the other dealers. The ‘fun’ part was they didnt want the lift going constantly up and down all morning so were discouraging anyone who didn’t actually need it to use it before 12 or so, meaning that we had to take the stairs to the 7th floor. I sure got some good exercise in this trip, anyway. What surprised me was that Azone hadn’t actually set anything up yet when we were all waiting in line - I assumed they’d do it the night before - but our position in line allowed us to watch them set up. (however, they put a barricade around the new doll displays so that no one could see them until the event started). I wondered if they’d get it done in time but they worked very quickly and it was kind of cool to see.

When it was finally time to go in, I headed straight to Ronronshuka. Even though I managed to get 18th or so in line for her stall, I still missed out on one of the things my friend asked for - luckily I got the rest. There was also a really beautiful DD dress set I wanted to get for myself which had also sold out. But it was also kind of pricey, and seeing as there was still Dollpa after this, I didn’t want to buy anything too expensive. Pics weren’t allowed until after 12 so here are some pics of Ronronsuka’s booth that I took later in the day. She honestly has the cutest displays and her custom DDs are the cutest I’ve ever seen.

The pink and white set the white-haired DD is wearing is what I wanted - I think it’d really suit Luka, but oh well.

Ronronsuka’s also come out with a line of her own wigs which look great and had me sorely tempted, but I don’t really have a use for any of them at this point. It was the first time I’d seen what Ronronshuka looks like, and she’s so glamorous! I wanted to tell her how much I love seeing her cats on instagram, but I got too starstruck. By the time I’d done my initial round of shopping and looked at everything it was past 12, so I started to take photos, starting with Azone on the 7th floor.  Their product displays for new and upcoming items:

It looks like they’re making another version of the new super poseable Pure Neemo body that has proportions closer to the original, which I’m glad of. The slight chunkiness of the original body was part of the entire charm of pure neemo, so the super skinny new bodies with the ugly joints don’t interest me at all.

Kikipop’s Hoekuchi versions are also coming! I have never been that interested in the Azone versions of Kikipop because my favourite of the resin ones have always been the Hoekuchi versions, and I told myself I’d only ever consider getting one if Azone finally made them. Looks like these ones are going to be really, really cute...;; We shall see! Anyway, the 50cm girls:

I wasnt really interested in showing off too many of the new products myself since other people do a better and more in-depth job. If you are interested in all the new Azone stuff shown (which is more than what I’ve shown) check Neemosi on twitter.

Now some miscellaneous photos from other dealers! Note: I did not take photos of every single dealer as it would have taken far too long - and I also only really took photos of stuff that interested me (so not many Blythes or Pullips for the most part despite how many there were, sorry). But you can see the full list of dealers here if you’re interested. They encompassed everything from Obitsu11cm and even smaller, to the 70cm+ dolls, and there was also some guy selling wigs for 1/1 dolls.

I really loved these little robot guys this guy was selling!

There was a vote going on here to decide what the next face of these Petworks dolls should be. I cant remember if I voted B or D.

I’m usually not a big fan of Angelphilia but the girl in the pink shirt has a real cute face.

Obitsu unveiled their new 45cm boy body and I like it a lot. The main thing I dont like about Obitsu bodies is the ugly knees, but they’ve gotten rid of that here. It’s very promising! 

Obitsus 1/6 girls are all very cute too. They have removable eyes and wigs, unlike pure neemos.

I quite like these carrying cases.

I wish I’d gotten Jasper some clothes from here too, but I’d already bought him clothes elsewhere and was trying to stay under budget.

The above two pics was a dealer selling eyes made from real gemstones. They were extremely expensive but also amazing. I couldnt really take any good photos of the eyes themselves, because my camera wouldnt focus on them properly and the lighting made them look different in the photos to IRL, which was annoying, but I tried. The dealer was wearing a waist-coat and looked like some kind of fantasy character.

The above two pics are from Good Smile Company’s booth there - they were showing off their new doll line, Harmonia Bloom. I honestly didn’t like these much at all when I first saw them online, but I think they do look better in person. However, I’m not really a fan of this kind of aesthetic. I had been hoping that they would be showing their new obitsu11-esque doll bodies/clothes for nendoroids that they showed at a previous WonderFest but unfortunately they weren’t. Still, it’s interesting that Good Smile are branching into dolls now.

I got a shirt from this booth! Although I kind of wish I’d gotten one of the short dresses to act as a shirt instead.

That condludes the dealers! Here’s what my booty for the day ended up being:

Two wigs (same style/colour, different sizes), clothes for Jasper, a shirt for Mel, heart sunglasses for Bri, shoes for Mel and also a new hat for Mel, because his current one had a really large brim that was annoying me. This hat was actually from the exact same dealer I bought that hat from last year, but the brim is a lot shorter. The next post will be the displays of the patrons dolls, which is always fun to see.

[pirate-cashoo]

Hey there, I love your Nick Valentine figure touchup! I got one just a few days ago myself and wanted to do the same thing, but I've never set paintbrush to a figure before, can you post anything about the process you used? If so, awesome, I would super appreciate it, if not thank you for taking the time to read this anyway, you did an amazing job c:

Oh thank you!!  Aw man I should have taken progress shots. To be honest I didn’t know how good or bad it was gonna come out (I love touching up figures and toys but I am still a bit new to it). I will at least tell you the tools I used and how I used them!

So it’s actually very similar to how most people do faceups for BJDs (ball jointed dolls, you know those really pretty ones?). If you need more information than this post, I’d definitely look up ‘bjd faceup tutorial’ on google or youtube, you’ll find tons of em. This is a long post so I’m gonna put it under the cut.

So, to start, you need acetone and cotton balls/q-tips. It gets rid of the ugly paint already on his face. I didn’t do this, because I didn’t have acetone at the time and I was very impatient lol. But I just tried acetone on the Fawkes figure and it took the gross paint wash right off.

Let it dry, then take a matte sealant (Mr. Super Clear is the most recommended) on his face. Of course, do it outside because it’s bad for your lungs. Use a respirator if you can. Starting off with sealant gives the surface a bit of tooth to make your materials stick to it better. Apply some of the materials and when you’re happy, seal it again, and I recommend doing it often! This is so that if you make a mistake, you can wash it off without ruining your hard work underneath. Make sure to get a good even coat and wait for it to dry fully each time, or else it can mess up your progress.

Here are the tools I used:

I started off by mixing the grey and dark brown pastels in a palette plate-thing and grinded them up so they were evenly mixed. Make sure it’s NOT a warm brown, or else that won’t blend well with the rest of his face. I used the 2nd brush in the bottom picture to lightly blush over the more concave parts of his face (eyes, under the cheekbones). I used the 1st brush (it’s a more flat brush) to do the wrinkles and the more sharp creases on his face. Go wild with the texture, do what you think looks best! But pastels are GREAT for doing blush and soft changes of color on the face. It’s always the first step because it lays down the foundation for the rest of the details. Start big and go small. After I was satisfied with the grey-brown shading, I did very light layers of black on the concave parts of his face to make things like his cheekbones stand out more.

Later on, I also used a black Prismacolor pencil (watercolor pencils tend to be best because they wash off easily in the event of a mistake, but if not that’s okay) to line in tiny details and light creases around his eyes. I also used the black pencil to fill in the line on his mouth, his nostrils, and the darkest parts in his ears.

I did his eyes last. My god his eyes were a pain. I re-did them like 4 times. I filled them in with the Micron pen (tbh any black pen or black acrylic paint works), all black, and sealed it off. I did a light outline with the white Prismacolor pencil to make sure the eyes lined up okay, and then filled in the whole circles with the white gel pen. I made black circles with the Micron within both of those. That was the easiest method I could find to get evenly-shaped eyes. If you have a REALLY tiny fine brush that can get those little details, then I’d recommend doing that with yellow acrylic paint! I lost my brush so I had to do it the hard way and go back in after sealing it with a yellow marker to get them yellow. RIP. After it’s all done give it a couple good layers of sealant and it’s done.

Also, q-tips are your friend! If I got too much of a color in one spot I just blended it out, and the pointy q-tips are good for dragging out subtle wrinkles and stuff. and if you mess up, dip the q-tip lightly in some water and wash off the desired spot.

That’s a really general overview, but I hope that helped. Let me know if you have any more questions! And again, definitely check out those BJD tutorials and other stuff like that, there are a lot of good resources out there to show how to use those tools. Overall, for doing touchups to figures, try to keep your all of your mediums water-based so it’s easier to go back in the event of a mistake!

[real-bjd-recast-community]

Serious question, no hate. Why do you support recasts?

This is going to be a long ass post…

Everyone has their own reasons, I can only talk about myself, I don’t thinkthe exact same circumstances apply to, for example, Admin C (who is taking aleave now due to personal reasons and might be horrified about the direct way Ihandle things but that’s a different story and we have different approaches tothe subject, “C” it’s usually more “measured” and many times tends not to givea reply at all and just “post the confession” asking anons to reply for, or notposting any reply at all).

There are many reasons as to “why” I’m pro recast, personally. I was at thedawn of the hobby, I had the luck and fortune to have dolls when there wasalmost no information online (and the few there was on Japanese or Korean andthere was almost no internet and obviously no “google translate” or apps, cellphones where only made for calling and texting, very basic texting I mean) andwhen there was Volks, Luts and a couple more, not the hundreds of differentoptions we have today. I saw (no one told me, this I saw with my own two eyes)how DollZone sold recasts, and how legit companies closed due to poormanagement resources, or scam and screw a lot of people with events, quality,or regular orders all together. I was there when some declared “bankruptcy”after almost a year of taking orders and charging their clients in advance andnever delivered a thing. I was there when some legit companies took from 9 to14 months to ship the orders (when their regular time was 45 days to 3 months atmost and never apologized or even sent a gift to the costumer, many times ifyou wanted to cancel the order they wouldn’t even give your money back andPayPal time for opening a dispute was “only 30 days” so you where out of anyprotection plan by that time), and all of this only if they shipped the doll atall, and they all came with a wide spectrum of very nasty defects or missingparts. I know, I wasn’t only there, I have legit dolls from well knowncompanies that cost me $750 or more and they “forgot” to include importantpieces needed to assemble parts of the doll itself or their full set.

Add to this that by that time there weren’t any options, I was often askedby SO many people “where” and “how” they could get the same doll as I, and Itried so hard to tell them and explain and it seemed like I was talking inchinese because yes!, it was hard as hell to get a doll, you had to deal withall the shit the legit companies just thrown at you, and on top of that begrateful that the company decided “to sell this to you” and have a smile on yourface whatever happen. And looking at those faces I came to understand that whatwe where going trough was just insane. That the companies weren’t giving thedolls for free, they where charging a lot of money, and I remind you thecurrency exchange adjustment thing, because they where charging upon 3 timesmore for the same doll if the costumer was from outside asia, that it’s simpleput discriminating costumers from the outside, or thinking we where too stupidto notice, and they actually got away with it for a lot longer than they shouldhave.

Now when antis talk about dolls they talk about artist and pure souls, thisartists got a hell of a lot more money than they should have done with thewestern world and gave us literally HELL most of the time, and we had to comeup with the excuses for them and smile, like “well, this is Japanese so theydon’t speak English, it’s my bad to have been born on the US” and all sorts ofshit we somehow found an excuse for them! crazy right?, and then there was the“elitism”, people who only collected Volks and though everyone else was shitunder their feet, or people who only have hi-end brands and start acting likethe cheerleaders on a hischool class, and many other ways of discriminatingpeople, human beings, who had suffered just to get a ResinSoul ¼ Song, andthat this doll was priceless to them, they where treated like trash, likeliterally trash, the bottom of the worst of hell. They had to read dailyinsults from a lot of people they don’t even know, and their doll was cheap,but legit. They were told cheap bastards, that their doll wasn’t a real bjd,and that it was a piece of shit. they where told that if they didn’t had enoughmoney to constantly buy clothing and props or wigs or shoes they where “baddoll owners” and made them feel guilty because they had a shitty “sock dress”and a “crayon faceup” or their dolls might be nude or wigless for months, andthey also discriminated fur wigs as “cheap options for the cheap bastards”(thank God that didn’t last because I personally love fur wigs). And theyweren’t allowed into “certain elitist meets”, or they secluded them pushing theperson to be left alone in a table where no one else talked to them or interactwith them.

Sure you might find people who says they never saw anything like this orthat they never got any hate for owning a cheaper legit doll, but this I sawwith my own eyes, I have literally no reason at all to lie, and I understandnewer members of the community who jumped into the hobby after recasts where here,or older members who just want to forget that times, don’t talk about it, ormaybe they where just extremely unique and actually never encounter the indescribableamount of shit I know there was back then. And I was powerless; I could doabsolutely nothing, if a person wanted a doll and didn’t had the money to buythe ones I might be able to afford (since we are all different people anddifferent lives) was Bobobie or ResinSoul, or Obitsu and Hujoo. The first twowhere considered cheap horrible quality options that will get you nowherebecause the real community members should have +$500 dolls, and the last twoweren’t even considered as bjds so you weren’t technically part of thecommunity at all. I saw all this, I saw how people, real actually living peoplelives got ruined by the then called “elitists” and now called “anti recast” or“pro artists”, I was powerless, the only, and I mean THE ONLY source ofinformation was Dean of Angels, and it was more like a exclusive country clubwhere you weren’t able to do next to nothing without getting banned (unless youwhere an Admin or a personal friend to one). There where times when they bannedreal resin bjds (no excuse at all to justify it) from different companies (like5stardolls) just because one of the admins “didn’t like the sculpt” and didn’twant to see that sculpt on their precious forum.

And I get it, its human nature to be a dick for money and to be a horribleperson to cement your social status or busting our egos because “I havesomething you can’t have”, but let’s fucking face it for once, this hasabsolutely NOTHING to do about defending the artist rights. This has to do withthe fall of the sales on the 2nd hand market (they used to charge you 5 timesmore for a used broken doll because “if you wanted that doll there where nooptions”, no recasts, you had to pay whatever price the seller come up with); Legitcompanies closed much more when there was no recasts at all than now, the hobbyisn’t going to “end” because of recats (not more than all those artists playingmusic on your phone will go off business if you download a free MP3 or MP4),this are all, ALL fucking excuses to hate on others, what you lost with recastwas sales on the 2nd hand market and the exclusivity of having something and bragabout it because few others can have the exact same. So you ask me “why I’m prorecast?”, well, it’s a long story with a mix of shit and a ton of knowledgeabout what I talk about. In fact most legit companies have improved a LOT sincethey’re competing with recast sellers (some didn’t, like Fairyland, still haveshit quality batches randomly, and Soom too among others, but hey! many did!they realize their needed to actually run a serious business, to care for theircostumers, to have a better costumer service and deliver better qualityproducts, to reply questions and messages, to solve problems, and yes!, theydon’t do it for free, they make a LOT of money out of it!, enough to cover theloses and a lot more just for their pockets, and now they tend not to think ofus like trash just because we where born on the wrong continent!). So you tellme “well then, how about small artists who don’t work for a big company and getpaid for their work in advance?”, there is, and always will be an audience anda public for them. there will always be people who will buy legit and that canactually afford $450 for a 1/6 scale doll, but the ones who will NEVER be ableto buy the doll at the “legit price”, are not going to “save for 50 years andthen buy it”, no, that money, either it’s $100 or $50, is NEVER going to the“small artist” and his work, so the artist it’s not loosing any money becausethe people who buys a recast it’s doing it because it’s unable to afford thelegit, and the ones who can buy the legit will not stop doing so! So again!,it’s NOT about the artist rights! And I’m fucking tired of antis using thatexcuse to actually hurt real people who have feelings, to ruin their lives andcyber bullying them like if they where mass murders, they’re not!, they’re notdifferent from you and me, they’re people, who is honest and good and caringand sensitive, and sure there are assholes in all sides, but most people getsshit over a doll, an object, “art” if you like, not different from other formsof art like music and small studios, dvd movie releases made with every penny agroup of friends can gather that are watched as torrents every day, and thedesigner clothing or the thousand other knockoffs you use, buy, eat andwear…. and then you tell me “but I never watched, heard, buoyed or wear aknockoff!” and I shall tell you, “lucky you that you can buy only legit, thatstill doesn’t give you the right to shit on other people who have less money orchose a different option”, and then you might also tell me “but they arethieves and this items are not necessary for living like food or shelter! Theyare doing it because they choose to be bad persons and deserve whatever it’scoming to them!”, first of all, let me clarify something, the recasts are acheaper option, but are not FREE, you have to work, earn money, and pay forthem, so “no, they’re not thieves”. Second, there are some people on this wordwho REALLY deserve whatever its coming to them, NONE of them are into doll,they’re mass murderers, rapist, racists, pedophiles, abusive partners on arelationship, …I can think a looong list about “who deserves to be treated asshit” and people who owns dolls, are absolutely not in that list, not even ifthey actually stole a doll directly from the Leonardo DaVinci studio, there isa very, extremely long list of people who are much worst, and antis focus theirhate, time, and effort into dealing with doll owners when they could volunteeron a soup kitchen or anything else that might actually do some good to others. Now,about the whole deal with “this isn’t food, you don’t need a doll, don’t useyour mental health as an excuse”, let me tell you, if you think “mental healthissues” are “excuses”, then YOU should get checked by a doctor ASAP. Second,how much of a self centered ass you need to be to assume “it’s all about you”and “we are all like you”. We are not factory manufactured, many went tosimilar situations, some thrive and have a normal life, sadly, half of themcommitted suicide and are no longer with us. Same exact situation on twodifferent people gives different outcomes. Not everyone has your strength andyou might find that strength in a small insignificant detail, like a doll. I’mgoing to tell you a story of my personal life I never shared before because weare on anonymous mode and no one can trace me back to it because I never toldanyone except my family (that’s not into dolls) and the other person involved whoI shall not name in any way.

I have a friend who is now a proud mom of a 1yr old beautiful baby boy andit’s engaged with a loving partner. When I started protecting random peoplefrom hate, bullying and shit (courtesy of the anti recast community), I lostalmost all of my ‘dolly friends’ because they “didn’t want to be associatedwith a pro recast”, but this girl stayed as my friend, and she wasn’t able tobuy a legit from Volks (though Yahoo!JP), not to mention the sculpt she lovedwas sold out, and prices on the 2nd market where insane, and even if I helpedher, I’m not rich myself, so even between two people gathering money it wasnearly impossible to pay that much, for the only person who had it was chargingover $2500. At this point you might be thinking “well, if you’re such a goodperson, then why you just didn’t gave her your doll?!” (got to love antis, theyhave a question for every detail no matter how stupid it is), and I didn’t gaveher my own doll because I have a very strong bond to this doll and it’s basedon my own OC from when I was really a very small child before I got rape at age10 (happy?), it represents the innocence I’ve lost, so this doll it’s not “justa doll” I would be able to sell or give (unlike other dolls I do have but neverbonded quite much with them). So I explain to her the ‘pros and cons’ of owninga recast, and knowing she was on a very delicate and bad situation at the time(for personal reasons) I made a lot of emphasis on the “bad side” of beinginsulted and bullied every day just for owning a doll. But she really, and Imean REALLY, needed “some joy” in her life, she wanted this doll more thananything (I had this doll, and she had meet ‘her’ trough me, and it hold asignificant amount of emotional attachment since the same day she had lost a closefamily member on a hit and run car accident, we had spent the entire day on thepark near her house taking pictures of this specific doll with this person shehad lost later that same night) and no, she didn’t wanted another sculpt or a“cheaper option”, she adored my girl and wanted to have “one just like that”. Shegave me part of the money (basically the cost of the recast), I put theshipping fees and other stuff I had to buy (like wig, clothing, eyes), and Imade her an exact replica of my girl. I had more experience so I handled theentire thing and gave her the doll as soon as it was ready, I even did herfaceup replicating the one my girl had and she was breathing life, she was thehappiest person I have ever saw holding an object, she literally cried tears ofjoy that day because she had her doll and we had “twins”, and no, I wasn’tthinking “fuck her, this is my OC, mine only, you can’t have the same!”, no!,we are grown ups!, I made sure to buy all exactly the same for her and shecalled her the same name with the only difference of a single letter on it. Butthen, a few weeks later, as usual, all went to hell thanks to ANTIS. I’m notgoing into details, but she called me really late at night crying, she wasconsidering taking her own life because she had posted a picture of her girl“somewhere where she wasn’t supposed to” without knowing and there was like 20people she didn’t even knew sending her one hate message after the other,exploiting every little thing they could know about her life to make her feellike the worst human in this planet. Because she had a doll. Are we getting thepicture here?, it’s a doll, a wonderful brave precious person was at the edge ofcommitting suicide because anti recasters or “pro artists” didn’t liked herDOLL because it was a recast. Please, take a moment to wrap what I’m tellingyou around your head. Just do it, for me, just take 3 seconds and tell me if ahuman life is worth a legit doll, just tell me that. I remember I had no car so Ijumped on a bus that took me forever to get to her and I was completelypanicking because I didn’t knew if I should call 911 or just “get fuckingthere” as soon as possible all this while I had her on the phone, and by thetime I got to her apartment it was a mess and she was barely able to open thedoor and I told her if she didn’t open I was going to call the police to kickthe door down, and there was blood everywhere and I really don’t know how I didnot to pass out because I tend to black out when I see blood, but we (me andher neighbor) called the ambulance (even if she didn’t want to), and that nightwe had to stay in the hospital so they admitted her in ER and I had to dealwith the police and give a statement about and call her family and actually TRYto explain she wanted to die because OF A DOLL (try telling that to the policeor the family of the person involved and see if they get it). I told herbrother I needed to pick up my phone from her apartment (that I had left on theground in the middle of this ordeal) and when I went there I also took her dolland the next time she open her eyes she saw this doll, and I told her sheneeded to be alive for her, because if she didn’t love her and care for her,everyone else will hate her, so “the doll needed her” and we cried a lot and Iwas able to convince her trough that same doll that she needed to stay aliveand don’t do stupid shit anymore. And yes, it was hard and yes she had a strictpsychological supervision, and yes, she recovered as much as one can recoverfrom shit things that happen in this world, but to think every time I see herbaby boy that that kid and her loving mother might not be here with us todaybecause a group of assholes just decided to push her to the edge because herdoll was manufactured on china and not japan… what else can I say, right?

And you might think I’m lying, that I’m making all this up because I’m “anevil pro recast who runs a confession anonymous blog”, and you’re a free personand you might chose to believe pigs can fly too, I really don’t care; But ifyou believe me, then that alone shows you how complex human life is, and howantis don’t know shit about anyone, and worst of all they think “they don’t need toknow” before starting the stalking, the insulting, the bullying, and givingthis or that person the worst time of their lives. We complain about studentsgoing into campus and shooting everyone and then killing themselves, wecomplain about hate groups and how some kid who just wanted to belong tosomething decided to go on a gang and ended up killing a mother of four and 25to life in prison, when truth is, we, as a society of assholes, might bepushing this people to their limits and then “they did it because they wantedto, it’s their fault”, we say “yeah, she killed herself, what a looser” and wemove on like there is nothing wrong and the actions we take are of noimportance whatsoever. EVERY little choice matters, if we decide to be cruel orgentle about something, if we decide to understand that the other person it’snot a duplicate of myself, if we condole a recast, that it’s a doll, that it’snot hurting anyone specially artists, just the 2nd hand market stupid pricesand our ego to be unique like if we where four.

So in few words, why I’m pro recast? well.., legit companies doing shit totheir costumers for years + abusive elitists hating on cheap legit options andruin peoples lives (now that I think of it, there was a time when it was also“forbidden” to do “hybrids” with one expensive head and a cheaper body, Godlord, those times where crazy…) + people unable to get a doll they reallylike (or need, or want), and even if you think “it doesn’t make a difference”or “doesn’t care”, this is many times a lifesaver for many + elitists assholesbecoming ““pro artists”” (when artists have nothing to do with) and againgiving the worst of shit possible to anyone they think it’s not to theirstandards + “cult like” mind hive, inability to accept other people it’sdifferent, and CONSTANTLY trying to “shape them” at your image of what’s rightand what’s wrong + Antis deciding for people how they should spent their money,and how or when + + + + + a LOT of other endless things.

And the best part is, we can be here all day and you will NEVER understand asingle word of what I’m telling you, because you’re an anti, you chose yourside and whatever reasons, shitty or not, they make you feel just ascomfortable as I feel myself being a pro recast and helping others getting adoll, might this be a expensive resin doll, a cheap resin legit doll, a recast,a vinyl doll a plastic doll or whatever the hell I can help them with.

Yes, I’m pro recast, and proud.

Admin O

[volfoss]

Doll faceup under the cut (pic heavy)👍

I wanted to redo Clarimonde's faceup because after I had done the scar work on my last faceup, I felt I could do better + the lipstick just didn't suit the doll to me. So i wiped the faceup and got to work making a wip with the inspo of changing the vibes to a more stylized 1920s silent picture actress dramatic makeup inspired with a hint of traditional goth. As always I love to play by the doing stuff I have NO clue how to do rules which was definitely the case in this faceup (if only I knew just HOW much that would become the case later on)

I used my same mockup image as before but decided to go a slightly less sickly approach and do more dramatic makeup since I enjoyed that last time and then wiped the head clean (or as much as I could lol)

^ before and the mockup

I did what I've done in the past to build up subtle shadows, with doing 1 coat of sealant at a time and got to work laying a good foundation down for the work I was about to do. The part I was most nervous about was for SURE the brows as I would have to use a watercolor pencil and have very steady hands as I did so (I do NOT have steady hands) or use acrylic paint with an even steadier hand.

First layer was pretty basic as I just needed to start on the lip shades and getting the smallest amount of blush on there. My phone camera picks up more pink than there should be so it looks very heavy handed here :/

This was definitely the scariest part as I had predicted as not just getting the brows precisely thin but also pretty even was HARD.

Started on the acrylics and had noticed that i had a weird patch of lighter resin towards the nose where the eyeshadow just wasn't building up nicely and kind of panicked but decided to leave it for a bit later and try and press on

^ caption at this point was me being so so convinced i would not have to do something to fix the eye area. Unfortunately it was bothering me VERY badly

This was the first time I'd drawn on lashes other than VERY tiny ones so I went big and did very large and over exaggerating to match the upper eye which I ended up covering in acrylic to make it match better. There was no going back by this point and I was pretty scared I was going to have to wipe it all and try again until I put an eye in to see how it looked

It had all kind of worked out as it made the eye pop a lot more and the blue under the eye really brought out the blue in the eyeball so I did my last bits of sealant and put the doll back together, as I needed to get the scar paint a bit later (ran out of red paint)

I was THRILLED as it finally felt i had gotten the vibes for my doll down and that was what I wasn't getting from the old faceup. The scar position had changed as well from my old faceup for this doll, so I was a bit nervous about trying to replicate my mockup lines as well as getting the scars to look ok.

I tried a new mix of paint for the scar color this time as I felt it came out too bright red in the past and mixed a more brick red into my already brighter red in a 1:1 ratio and got pretty much the perfect color! I did two coats on that (using cheap paint so it's VERY thin already which is honestly good for the scars since it adds texture to it with the brush)

^ scars finished and textured! All that's left is to seal and put the doll back together :)

[fragmentedimaginationcreator]

He Was a Natural Disaster Trapped in Human Form - Chapter 1/???

This is not happening in the same universe as the Fragmented Imagination but since I’ve decided to give shell at least one character (Protagonist) from this story anyway, I figured that I could use this side of my tumblr as generally posting my stories. (main focus still on fragmented, not to worry)Fragmented News: I’m gonna be posting a slice of Lucas’ life soon too as well as the fixed versions of the Prologue and Chapter 1, as my Beta finally fixed it for me ^^ And after I’ve finished with my current faceup/wig commissions I’ll start writing Chapter 2 for the Fragmented Imagination

Anyway. What is THIS story about?

- - - - - I went out of town to meet a friend. We had not seen each other for a long time and – as a socially impaired piece of shit that I am – I felt extremely nervous to see them again. How come the more time I spend apart from my friends, the harder it gets for me to gather up the courage to see them again? My heart kept racing and I was sure that something weird would happen. Either I would make weird sounds with my mouth (that one could mistake as speech) or I would do something utterly stupid. Maybe I would meet someone new and they would throw my world out of balance. If only I had trusted my gut instinct and believed that it might not be that far-fetched theory, I would have dialed my friend (and actually pressed the ”call” button) and come up with an excuse to move our meeting to another time. If only I had known that I was about to meet the Hurricane that was about to turn my world upside down, I would have turned away, covered my ears, closed my eyes and began shouting until my lungs were sore and no sound was left – anything weird and/or new scared me shitless and I did everything in my power to avoid them. But now that I have met this natural disaster trapped in human form, I would slap my past self in the face if they tried to walk away. I’d rewrite history countless times and I wouldn’t care who I would have to write off or on in to my life if it meant that I’d get to see that person again - even if just to pass by them at the super market. However… It was a chilly afternoon when my buss arrived to the station in this weird town that I had never visited before. My friend had just moved there a month or two ago and had insisted me to come see her new house (I had ”a flu” when her house warming parties were held). My friend, Nelly was her name, was waiting for me in front of the station and waved me happily when she found me stepping out of the buss. We hugged. I was never a fan of hugging - I preferred to keep my personal ”my meter” -space – but I found that it was actually comforting to be hugged by her. We had lived together for 2 years when we were still students so it felt like it had only been yesterday when we spent hours just drinking tea in our kitchen – not 10 years. ”How was the trip? There has been this horrible wind lately and other buss was late for like 30 minutes. So I was a bit worried that something would have happened to you”, Nelly said. She was so talkative. I replied to her with simple ”Uhuh, no, it was all good.” ”So Anon, I hope you don’t mind…” she started. (Shit, I do mind, I hate surprises… Also she must be the only person who still calls me with that nickname) ”One of my friends is staying over at my place – He has had quite a rough year and he is currently homeless so I let him stay at my place…” she looked at me while buckling up her seat belt. She was trying to read my expressions since she knew that I hated people. New people more than anything else. ”I did tell them that you were coming and that you were bad with other people, so just tell me if you’re uncomfortable. We’ve arranged it with my boyfriend so that he can stay at his place if you started feeling… those feelings again…” Ah, but of course… Nelly remembered. I have had my fair share of horrible young adulthood/teenage drama and I even had intensive therapy/medication for that shit – Though I had not been on meds or seen said therapist for a couple of years now. Yet, I still felt uncomfortable around other people, especially with males (funny, since I was a male myself too). Nelly had been the first person I had opened up to. Not that I meant to at the time but since she was there to soothe me when my nightmares were making me insane, she just kinda learned it on her own. ”Then why is he not staying at your boyfriend’s in the first place…?” I muttered without being able to stop myself. I was expecting to hear some sort of explanation. I mean, the guy was homeless -  I was suspicious that he was not completely ”normal” in my books just from that fact. Horribly narrow minded, I know. I lifted my eyes and met my friend’s face. She was smiling with this odd expression that was pretty much the embodiment of ”you’ll see” if I had ever seen one. I was pretty sure she’d also say that out loud but instead she just made a hand gesture, indicating that I should also buckle up mine as she started the engine. It was maybe a 20-ish minute drive when she pulled out to the small yard in the area that looked so old that it was antique (”These houses must cost a fortune to live in”, I thought). ”We’re here!” Nelly exclaimed happily as she took the keys out and outstretched her arms (as much as the small car let her) to make me look at her house. Holy shit. That was amazing house. I had never seen one quite like it before. It was a small (green) dublex with so many details in the windows (white wood with decorative carvings), porch (how many hours had been used just to make that railing?) and steppings (not to mention garden, though it was already beginning to look a bit sad since the cold weather had killed most of the plants already). My jaw must have dropped since Nelly was smiling with even more pleased look on her face. ”My boyfriend’s aunt is living in the other apartment and I get to live here pretty cheap if I help her out with taking care of the building and her – since she is getting quite sick… Oh! But don’t worry! She never comes to my apartment without letting me know in advance! She usually just calls me to come to her side if she needs me!” Nelly said as I was making _the_ face (more people…?). We unloaded the car and I was still awestruck with the amount of wood carving and detailing. Nelly said something like ”Aunt’s grand father was a carpenter and had build this house with his friends and had made sure that the house would be the most beautiful in town” … or something like that. To be honest I didn’t pay much attention since I was in love with the building even without its history. I was actually so fascinated with the building that I had completely forgotten about the person I was about to meet. I didn’t remember or realize it even when I kicked my own shoes away and saw a pair of (filthy) army boots on the clean hallway. (they were so out of place there) ”U came already?” shouted unfamiliar voice from somewhere in the house and I completely froze. (Shit. I was about to meet someone new. Hell to the NO! I’m not ready! Abort Mission! D-A-N-G-E-R-! ABORT MISSION! Abandon the fucking ship!) ”Yeah! Oh! Did you put the meat in the oven when I called?” Nelly shouted back cheerfully, disappearing to the room that was probably kitchen. I was taking off my coat when she came back with a happy expression. She took my luggage and told me to follow her to the guest room. ”We’ll be having some slow-cooked lamb for dinner – I found this awesome recipe for the sauce and I’ve been dying to use it and I just know that you’ll love it!” Nelly had begun to resemble those loving stay at home -wifes with about dozen cats– so she was clearly excited when she got to show off that side of her. As we walked past the room that Nelly had just been to (I was right, it was the kitchen) I saw the back of a man and for a short while, I felt like the world had slowed down so much that it might just as well have stopped. Man had loose jeans which had seen their better day and he had black socks (he was scratching his calf with his other leg) He had dark brown cardigan that was  pretty long and had something that resembled a hood (or just a big collar). He was holding a cup of coffee in his left hand (he had rolled up the sleeves of the cardigan but let the black long sleeves down) and his hair was a mix of natural (ash blonde) dread locks, braids and it seemed like none of that hair was the same length – but somehow it looked utterly cool and stylish the way he had tied it up so carelessly Thumb. I had dropped my bag and didn’t even realize it before the sound but I was not fast enough to react and as the stranger turned around, our eyes met for the first time. He had very captivating eyes and even though some silent voice at the back of my head kept telling me to pick up my bag and run through the front door, I couldn’t turn my eyes away. He had dark green eyes that were framed by long dark lashes, he had thick eyebrows and some beard (or maybe he had not just shaved for a couple of days). He smiled and I saw his lips (pretty narrow) form words. He let his head tilt a little to the left and exposed his neck (so long and more slender that I thought) and he turned around, towards me and started walking closer to me with a bright smile on his face. He had his arm stretched out, waiting to meet mine. Wait… RUN! I woke up from my trance, time started moving again and I crouched a bit to take my bag and stormed away to where Nelly was about to take me. I didn’t look back, didn’t care about the fact that I would see them in a moment again. Okay, I lied, I was scared shitless seeing them again. I was desperately trying to come up with an excuse to leave the house immediately. And I had only been in there for 3-5 minutes. Tops. ”There is towel ready on the table and I’ve changed linens this morning so they are all fresh and ready for you so you don’t need to worry about that! There are also extra pillows in the cabinet so help yourself if you want more. My room right upstairs, first door to the right and -He- is sleeping in the next room! I’ll go to prepare the meal so just make yourself at home,” Nelly kept talking but somehow I had trouble understanding. My heart was still beating so fast. I mumbled and smiled at her and she left the room and closed the door behind her. I stood there for a while, just looking out of the window. Why did the thing just happen? What was that bizarre moment about? It was nothing like I’ve ever experienced before. Freezing on the spot like that and even making an eye contact with a stranger and not even realizing it before they were almost close enough to touch me… But then again, there was something simply mesmerizing about him for sure. He was clearly not like any other person I had ever met before. “That’s bad”, I thought while I began rubbing my arm. I felt bruises forming under my hoodie. Ah… so uhmm… I also have this extremely rare condition called ”Bruising”. It has a long and impossible-to-remember medical name as well as some fancy Latin name but I feel like this street name describes it way better - at least it gives you a good idea what is about to follow. Basically my body is attacking itself. It’s not fatal (well, doctors don’t really know WHAT it is but so far it has not caused any casualties by itself) but it’s more like my body is trying to alarm me about everything. Like normally people with… well for example tenosynovitis, would have to rely to describing their pain to the doctors. My body is showing it physically. I get these bruises and small cuts whenever my body is, in any way, ”ill”. It’s kinda handy, like if I get a food poisoning, I can tell since my stomach starts bleeding a bit. Or if I’m catching a cold, light bruises show up on my throat. And if my body was about to develop a cancer, I’d probably find out about it before the traditional symptoms would starts showing up. Of course, there is always a downside. Like how often adults thought that my parents were abusing me since I was always full of bruises and cuts. And even though I was born with this condition and I’ve always been “hurting”, practically 24/7, it still hurts. (Like I have my better days and then I have my absolute bottoms just like anyone else - some days it’s harder to understand why I must bear with this kind of condition but since in my case it literally makes it worse, I’ve had to learn to look past it). But the worst part is… If I feel emotionally or mentally hurt, it shows on my body as well (usually it shows as bruising in my hands and small cuts, but if I feel hurt enough, it might even show up on my throat or face). I rolled up my sleeve a bit and - sure as hell - a big bruise was forming on my arm. I sighed. I knew that feeling agitated and worrying just made it worse but it’d be hard to hide huge bruise like that for long. And I didn’t really feel like explaining my condition to a complete stranger anyway. I rolled my sleeve back down and decided to keep my hoodie on. Just in case. ”That was pretty rude of you…” said a cold voice from the door. I startled and turned to the source of the voice and I swear that all the color drained from my face as I saw those emerald eyes again. ”I mean, Ya. I get it. U’re shy, but running off like that… Ain’t it a bit much, eh? Not like I’m gonna eat ya up.” said the man while leaning to the door frame. I couldn’t even gather my thoughts and he just scratched the back of his neck. ”I’m coming in, no fainting, ya hear?” RUN! I hesitated and started looking around me, trying to find a magic portal or something like that. Anything that could get me out of the situation. I was trapped. Fuck. He is gonna hurt me!? How dangerous is he!?” ”Oh”, he said and stopped with a surprised expression on his face. He tilted his head a bit and lifted a finger and pointed at my face. ”So you really have it too?” Huh? I felt something dripping on my face and turned to look in the window (there was no mirror in the room) and to my horror, I saw some bleeding above my eyes and huge bruise darkening around the corner of the same eye. By reflex I tried to hide it with my sleeve - of course I knew it at that very moment that it was for vain since he was the one who noticed it first but I felt extremely… confused, to my big surprise. More confused than hurt. ”No point in trying to hide it now, ya know?” The man said with a grin that was kinda hard to interpret. Was he making fun of me? ”Shut up! What would you know…!” I shouted. To my even bigger fucking surprise it actually made his smile turn to a bit kinder, I think. ”Nelly didn’t tell ya?” he said with a cheerful tone. ”And here I thought it was the only reason you wanted to meet my ugly mug!” (He insulted himself yet it sounded like he was actually bragging?) He rolled up his left sleeve and showed how a big portion of his arm had turned blue. ”I get bruised ridiculously easy too…!” … What? - - - To be continued - - -

[readbookywooks]

PART I THE ASHES

1 I stare down at my shoes, watching as a fine layer of ash settles on the worn leather. This is where the bed I shared with my sister, Prim, stood. Over there was the kitchen table. The bricks of the chimney, which collapsed in a charred heap, provide a point of reference for the rest of the house. How else could I orient myself in this sea of gray? Almost nothing remains of District 12. A month ago, the Capitol's firebombs obliterated the poor coal miners' houses in the Seam, the shops in the town, even the Justice Building. The only area that escaped incineration was the Victor's Village. I don't know why exactly. Perhaps so anyone forced to come here on Capitol business would have somewhere decent to stay. The odd reporter. A committee assessing the condition of the coal mines. A squad of Peacekeepers checking for returning refugees. But no one is returning except me. And that's only for a brief visit. The authorities in District 13 were against my coming back. They viewed it as a costly and pointless venture, given that at least a dozen invisible hovercraft are circling overhead for my protection and there's no intelligence to be gained. I had to see it, though. So much so that I made it a condition of my cooperating with any of their plans. Finally, Plutarch Heavensbee, the Head Gamemaker who had organized the rebels in the Capitol, threw up his hands. "Let her go. Better to waste a day than another month. Maybe a little tour of Twelve is just what she needs to convince her we're on the same side." The same side. A pain stabs my left temple and I press my hand against it. Right on the spot where Johanna Mason hit me with the coil of wire. The memories swirl as I try to sort out what is true and what is false. What series of events led me to be standing in the ruins of my city? This is hard because the effects of the concussion she gave me haven't completely subsided and my thoughts still have a tendency to jumble together. Also, the drugs they use to control my pain and mood sometimes make me see things. I guess. I'm still not entirely convinced that I was hallucinating the night the floor of my hospital room transformed into a carpet of writhing snakes. I use a technique one of the doctors suggested. I start with the simplest things I know to be true and work toward the more complicated. The list begins to roll in my head.... My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am seventeen years old. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. The Capitol hates me. Peeta was taken prisoner. He is thought to be dead. Most likely he is dead. It is probably best if he is dead.... "Katniss. Should I come down?" My best friend Gale's voice reaches me through the headset the rebels insisted I wear. He's up in a hovercraft, watching me carefully, ready to swoop in if anything goes amiss. I realize I'm crouched down now, elbows on my thighs, my head braced between my hands. I must look on the verge of some kind of breakdown. This won't do. Not when they're finally weaning me off the medication. I straighten up and wave his offer away. "No. I'm fine." To reinforce this, I begin to move away from my old house and in toward the town. Gale asked to be dropped off in 12 with me, but he didn't force the issue when I refused his company. He understands I don't want anyone with me today. Not even him. Some walks you have to take alone. The summer's been scorching hot and dry as a bone. There's been next to no rain to disturb the piles of ash left by the attack. They shift here and there, in reaction to my footsteps. No breeze to scatter them. I keep my eyes on what I remember as the road, because when I first landed in the Meadow, I wasn't careful and I walked right into a rock. Only it wasn't a rock - it was someone's skull. It rolled over and over and landed faceup, and for a long time I couldn't stop looking at the teeth, wondering whose they were, thinking of how mine would probably look the same way under similar circumstances. I stick to the road out of habit, but it's a bad choice, because it's full of the remains of those who tried to flee. Some were incinerated entirely. But others, probably overcome with smoke, escaped the worst of the flames and now lie reeking in various states of decomposition, carrion for scavengers, blanketed by flies.I killed you, I think as I pass a pile. And you. And you. Because I did. It was my arrow, aimed at the chink in the force field surrounding the arena, that brought on this firestorm of retribution. That sent the whole country of Panem into chaos. In my head I hear President Snow's words, spoken the morning I was to begin the Victory Tour. "Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, you have provided a spark that, left unattended, may grow to an inferno that destroys Panem." It turns out he wasn't exaggerating or simply trying to scare me. He was, perhaps, genuinely attempting to enlist my help. But I had already set something in motion that I had no ability to control. Burning. Still burning,I think numbly. The fires at the coal mines belch black smoke in the distance. There's no one left to care, though. More than ninety percent of the district's population is dead. The remaining eight hundred or so are refugees in District 13 - which, as far as I'm concerned, is the same thing as being homeless forever. I know I shouldn't think that; I know I should be grateful for the way we have been welcomed. Sick, wounded, starving, and empty-handed. Still, I can never get around the fact that District 13 was instrumental in 12's destruction. This doesn't absolve me of blame - there's plenty of blame to go around. But without them, I would not have been part of a larger plot to overthrow the Capitol or had the wherewithal to do it. The citizens of District 12 had no organized resistance movement of their own. No say in any of this. They only had the misfortune to have me. Some survivors think it's good luck, though, to be free of District 12 at last. To have escaped the endless hunger and oppression, the perilous mines, the lash of our final Head Peacekeeper, Romulus Thread. To have a new home at all is seen as a wonder since, up until a short time ago, we hadn't even known that District 13 still existed. The credit for the survivors' escape has landed squarely on Gale's shoulders, although he's loath to accept it. As soon as the Quarter Quell was over - as soon as I had been lifted from the arena - the electricity in District 12 was cut, the televisions went black, and the Seam became so silent, people could hear one another's heartbeats. No one did anything to protest or celebrate what had happened in the arena. Yet within fifteen minutes, the sky was filled with hoverplanes and the bombs were raining down. It was Gale who thought of the Meadow, one of the few places not filled with old wooden homes embedded with coal dust. He herded those he could in its direction, including my mother and Prim. He formed the team that pulled down the fence - now just a harmless chain-link barrier, with the electricity off - and led the people into the woods. He took them to the only place he could think of, the lake my father had shown me as a child. And it was from there they watched the distant flames eat up everything they knew in the world. By dawn the bombers were long gone, the fires dying, the final stragglers rounded up. My mother and Prim had set up a medical area for the injured and were attempting to treat them with whatever they could glean from the woods. Gale had two sets of bows and arrows, one hunting knife, one fishing net, and over eight hundred terrified people to feed. With the help of those who were able-bodied, they managed for three days. And that's when the hovercraft unexpectedly arrived to evacuate them to District 13, where there were more than enough clean, white living compartments, plenty of clothing, and three meals a day. The compartments had the disadvantage of being underground, the clothing was identical, and the food was relatively tasteless, but for the refugees of 12, these were minor considerations. They were safe. They were being cared for. They were alive and eagerly welcomed. This enthusiasm was interpreted as kindness. But a man named Dalton, a District 10 refugee who'd made it to 13 on foot a few years ago, leaked the real motive to me. "They need you. Me. They need us all. Awhile back, there was some sort of pox epidemic that killed a bunch of them and left a lot more infertile. New breeding stock. That's how they see us." Back in 10, he'd worked on one of the beef ranches, maintaining the genetic diversity of the herd with the implantation of long-frozen cow embryos. He's very likely right about 13, because there don't seem to be nearly enough kids around. But so what? We're not being kept in pens, we're being trained for work, the children are being educated. Those over fourteen have been given entry-level ranks in the military and are addressed respectfully as "Soldier." Every single refugee was granted automatic citizenship by the authorities of 13. Still, I hate them. But, of course, I hate almost everybody now. Myself more than anyone. The surface beneath my feet hardens, and under the carpet of ash, I feel the paving stones of the square. Around the perimeter is a shallow border of refuse where the shops stood. A heap of blackened rubble has replaced the Justice Building. I walk to the approximate site of the bakery Peeta's family owned. Nothing much left but the melted lump of the oven. Peeta's parents, his two older brothers - none of them made it to 13. Fewer than a dozen of what passed for District 12's well-to-do escaped the fire. Peeta would have nothing to come home to, anyway. Except me... I back away from the bakery and bump into something, lose my balance, and find myself sitting on a hunk of sun-heated metal. I puzzle over what it might have been, then remember Thread's recent renovations of the square. Stocks, whipping posts, and this, the remains of the gallows. Bad. This is bad. It brings on the flood of images that torments me, awake or asleep. Peeta being tortured - drowned, burned, lacerated, shocked, maimed, beaten - as the Capitol tries to get information about the rebellion that he doesn't know. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to reach for him across the hundreds and hundreds of miles, to send my thoughts into his mind, to let him know he is not alone. But he is. And I can't help him. Running. Away from the square and to the one place the fire did not destroy. I pass the wreckage of the mayor's house, where my friend Madge lived. No word of her or her family. Were they evacuated to the Capitol because of her father's position, or left to the flames? Ashes billow up around me, and I pull the hem of my shirt up over my mouth. It's not wondering what I breathe in, but who, that threatens to choke me. The grass has been scorched and the gray snow fell here as well, but the twelve fine houses of the Victor's Village are unscathed. I bolt into the house I lived in for the past year, slam the door closed, and lean back against it. The place seems untouched. Clean. Eerily quiet. Why did I come back to 12? How can this visit help me answer the question I can't escape? "What am I going to do?" I whisper to the walls. Because I really don't know. People keep talking at me, talking, talking, talking. Plutarch Heavensbee. His calculating assistant, Fulvia Cardew. A mishmash of district leaders. Military officials. But not Alma Coin, the president of 13, who just watches. She's fifty or so, with gray hair that falls in an unbroken sheet to her shoulders. I'm somewhat fascinated by her hair, since it's so uniform, so without a flaw, a wisp, even a split end. Her eyes are gray, but not like those of people from the Seam. They're very pale, as if almost all the color has been sucked out of them. The color of slush that you wish would melt away. What they want is for me to truly take on the role they designed for me. The symbol of the revolution. The Mockingjay. It isn't enough, what I've done in the past, defying the Capitol in the Games, providing a rallying point. I must now become the actual leader, the face, the voice, the embodiment of the revolution. The person who the districts - most of which are now openly at war with the Capitol - can count on to blaze the path to victory. I won't have to do it alone. They have a whole team of people to make me over, dress me, write my speeches, orchestrate my appearances - as ifthat doesn't sound horribly familiar - and all I have to do is play my part. Sometimes I listen to them and sometimes I just watch the perfect line of Coin's hair and try to decide if it's a wig. Eventually, I leave the room because my head starts to ache or it's time to eat or if I don't get aboveground I might start screaming. I don't bother to say anything. I simply get up and walk out. Yesterday afternoon, as the door was closing behind me, I heard Coin say, "I told you we should have rescued the boy first." Meaning Peeta. I couldn't agree more. He would've been an excellent mouthpiece. And who did they fish out of the arena instead? Me, who won't cooperate. Beetee, an older inventor from 3, who I rarely see because he was pulled into weapons development the minute he could sit upright. Literally, they wheeled his hospital bed into some top secret area and now he only occasionally shows up for meals. He's very smart and very willing to help the cause, but not really firebrand material. Then there's Finnick Odair, the sex symbol from the fishing district, who kept Peeta alive in the arena when I couldn't. They want to transform Finnick into a rebel leader as well, but first they'll have to get him to stay awake for more than five minutes. Even when he is conscious, you have to say everything to him three times to get through to his brain. The doctors say it's from the electrical shock he received in the arena, but I know it's a lot more complicated than that. I know that Finnick can't focus on anything in 13 because he's trying so hard to see what's happening in the Capitol to Annie, the mad girl from his district who's the only person on earth he loves. Despite serious reservations, I had to forgive Finnick for his role in the conspiracy that landed me here. He, at least, has some idea of what I'm going through. And it takes too much energy to stay angry with someone who cries so much. I move through the downstairs on hunter's feet, reluctant to make any sound. I pick up a few remembrances: a photo of my parents on their wedding day, a blue hair ribbon for Prim, the family book of medicinal and edible plants. The book falls open to a page with yellow flowers and I shut it quickly because it was Peeta's brush that painted them. What am I going to do? Is there any point in doing anything at all? My mother, my sister, and Gale's family are finally safe. As for the rest of 12, people are either dead, which is irreversible, or protected in 13. That leaves the rebels in the districts. Of course, I hate the Capitol, but I have no confidence that my being the Mockingjay will benefit those who are trying to bring it down. How can I help the districts when every time I make a move, it results in suffering and loss of life? The old man shot in District 11 for whistling. The crackdown in 12 after I intervened in Gale's whipping. My stylist, Cinna, being dragged, bloody and unconscious, from the Launch Room before the Games. Plutarch's sources believe he was killed during interrogation. Brilliant, enigmatic, lovely Cinna is dead because of me. I push the thought away because it's too impossibly painful to dwell on without losing my fragile hold on the situation entirely. What am I going to do? To become the Mockingjay...could any good I do possibly outweigh the damage? Who can I trust to answer that question? Certainly not that crew in 13. I swear, now that my family and Gale's are out of harm's way, I could run away. Except for one unfinished piece of business. Peeta. If I knew for sure that he was dead, I could just disappear into the woods and never look back. But until I do, I'm stuck. I spin on my heel at the sound of a hiss. In the kitchen doorway, back arched, ears flattened, stands the ugliest tomcat in the world. "Buttercup," I say. Thousands of people are dead, but he has survived and even looks well fed. On what? He can get in and out of the house through a window we always left ajar in the pantry. He must have been eating field mice. I refuse to consider the alternative. I squat down and extend a hand. "Come here, boy." Not likely. He's angry at his abandonment. Besides, I'm not offering food, and my ability to provide scraps has always been my main redeeming quality to him. For a while, when we used to meet up at the old house because we both disliked this new one, we seemed to be bonding a little. That's clearly over. He blinks those unpleasant yellow eyes. "Want to see Prim?" I ask. Her name catches his attention. Besides his own, it's the only word that means anything to him. He gives a rusty meow and approaches me. I pick him up, stroking his fur, then go to the closet and dig out my game bag and unceremoniously stuff him in. There's no other way I'll be able to carry him on the hovercraft, and he means the world to my sister. Her goat, Lady, an animal of actual value, has unfortunately not made an appearance. In my headset, I hear Gale's voice telling me we must go back. But the game bag has reminded me of one more thing that I want. I sling the strap of the bag over the back of a chair and dash up the steps to my bedroom. Inside the closet hangs my father's hunting jacket. Before the Quell, I brought it here from the old house, thinking its presence might be of comfort to my mother and sister when I was dead. Thank goodness, or it'd be ash now. The soft leather feels soothing and for a moment I'm calmed by the memories of the hours spent wrapped in it. Then, inexplicably, my palms begin to sweat. A strange sensation creeps up the back of my neck. I whip around to face the room and find it empty. Tidy. Everything in its place. There was no sound to alarm me. What, then? My nose twitches. It's the smell. Cloying and artificial. A dab of white peeks out of a vase of dried flowers on my dresser. I approach it with cautious steps. There, all but obscured by its preserved cousins, is a fresh white rose. Perfect. Down to the last thorn and silken petal. And I know immediately who's sent it to me. President Snow. When I begin to gag at the stench, I back away and clear out. How long has it been here? A day? An hour? The rebels did a security sweep of the Victor's Village before I was cleared to come here, checking for explosives, bugs, anything unusual. But perhaps the rose didn't seem noteworthy to them. Only to me. Downstairs, I snag the game bag off the chair, bouncing it along the floor until I remember it's occupied. On the lawn, I frantically signal to the hovercraft while Buttercup thrashes. I jab him with my elbow, but this only infuriates him. A hovercraft materializes and a ladder drops down. I step on and the current freezes me until I'm lifted on board. Gale helps me from the ladder. "You all right?" "Yeah," I say, wiping the sweat off my face with my sleeve. He left me a rose!I want to scream, but it's not information I'm sure I should share with someone like Plutarch looking on. First of all, because it will make me sound crazy. Like I either imagined it, which is quite possible, or I'm overreacting, which will buy me a trip back to the drug-induced dreamland I'm trying so hard to escape. No one will fully understand - how it's not just a flower, not even just President Snow's flower, but a promise of revenge - because no one else sat in the study with him when he threatened me before the Victory Tour. Positioned on my dresser, that white-as-snow rose is a personal message to me. It speaks of unfinished business. It whispers,I can find you. I can reach you. Perhaps I am watching you now.

[volfoss]

Doll faceup below the cut aka i got a bit SILLAY w it and impulse ordered this guy w no concept of what i wanted to do and then had a silly time with the faceup

I ordered this Bobobie Apollo with not a ton of ideas other than I wanted to try my hand at the old style bjd faceups that were very dramatic and edgy because I ADORE how they look and he's an older sculpt! Along the way I decided I wanted to give him a sort of edgy style as well as a purple and teal (this eventually turned into green) color scheme.

First draft of the faceup with eyes photoshopped in (before i got the doll) vs the second draft (in which I decided I would figure piercings out later)

I then had um. Horrible terrible failures the first time I tried to do this faceup to the point where I just wiped it fully and set it aside for a few days. I wasn't used to the style nor working on white resin so it was a mess with blush and the lips. I then went in for the second try with a MUCH lighter blush and the goal to keep around the lips as clean as I could (both of those were big issues with my first attempt)

So I did what I do with faceups I prefer to be more natural, going one coat of sealant at a time (versus 3 coats) so the color shows up a lot less bright. The first coat was promising with the blush showing up how I wanted it and the brows were going pretty ok (hard to see here but i used a light grey pastel to slightly figure out how i wanted them placed)

The lips were coming along pretty perfectly by the time I hit my second coat of sealant and I was nearly ready to start on the brows (in terms of using watercolor pencils to draw the hairs)

The eyeshadow looks very scary in both versions of this faceup at first but I KNEW how I wanted it to look and it had to go through some rough patches before it got better. The brows were still VERY light by this point even with the hairs on them but it didn't worry me as I had a light purple wig that I'd bought for this doll so it would look ok if they were too light!

I added some lines to the lips using a watercolor pencil as well as some slightly darker colors to get the lips to that perfect color that reminded me of the older style goth faceups (goth used VERY loosely here). The shadows were still pretty scary but i knew that as soon as I added the black pastels on top that it would work out just fine. The brows were about as dark as I could get them, so this layer was pretty productive in terms of how much I finished.

The eyeshadow was FINALLY good and I made the lips a teensie bit darker since I hadn't put my gloss varnish on them yet (which is my very last step w lips when I do them). It was FINALLY time for acrylics which was also when a lot of the harder work came in (ie. The scar)

^ I finished the eyeliner but it's VERY hard to see from this angle and finished the scar (took pics of the whole process that I'll post separately since Tumblr photo limit 👍)

And then the finished product :)

I'm honestly VERY happy with how it turned out, it all came together really well in the end with what I was trying to do and I feel it has the early edgy bjd faceup aesthetic but also met the goals I jotted down when doing my mockup!